Mummy Dearest gave me the day off school today to do my History Project. I did a lot of copying and pasting and then fell asleep for three and a half hours, dreaming about puppies and condoms and weird diseases. Sort of a nightmare that ended in a Jack Russell terrier laying eggs and little puppies (that were pink and green and looked like kittens) hatched out of ‘em. I have about nine hundred words on Maud Gonne and Inghinidhe na hÉireann, none of which are my own words. I have to do some serious paraphrasing. I have to finish it today and go to the library later to print it. Hopefully. Fingers crossed.
I can’t wait to go Christmas shopping. Oh, you have no idea. I can’t wait to have nice new clothes and get my camera and eat my din-dins and copious amounts of Tayto and cans of Coke. And go out. Maybe even risk disco. Who knows? The night is young, etc., etc.
My sister was in earlier, crying about her boyfriend, what a dick he is. And he really is a dick. But it made me realise how little I cry about boys lately. I miss you, of course I do, and there’s not a day that goes by when I don’t think about you. But I don’t miss fights and tension and ambiguity and bending over backwards to try to make you happy, with no result. Boys control your emotions too much and they don’t even know they’re doing it. Or maybe they do. I don’t know. It’s nice to not have that anymore, my emotions are not in your hands. They’re mine and mine alone.
Having said that, there’s probably some perfect boy out there who’s loud and honest and beautiful and emotionally unstable and who likes to dance and go on adventures and is perfect. He can take his time entering my life though – I’m in no rush. (:
Off to do more History or wallow or something. There’s some books I want from the library. Hopefully I can get them. That should be exciting. It was nice knowing you delicious people. TTFN.