A Curious Girl: Another day, and I'm on my feet

Hello, goodbye

I wanted to see but I guess I

Don't have the strength to speak tonight

It's tricky sometimes

When you wanted to run you'd always hide

You can't find the truth behind the lies

Another day and I'm on my feet, yeah

But the street feels like it's sleeping

I'm on a mission and it ain't too sweet

You're the reason I'm afraid

Said, you're the reason I'm afraid

But I want you to know

It's killing me

I think I gotta let go

Cause it's killing me

You're gonna do what you want

But you better believe

It's killing me

Love never dies

It's the reason why I won't compromise

But sometimes you fall before you fly

I've seen it coming for quite some time, man

I don't know what you're thinking

How can the two of us walk in stride

If we don't see eye to eye

You got me all messed up inside

Is it too late in the game?

There is no-one left to blame

I will always mention you

To the one that I pray to

Why can't you see that you're killing me?

What can I say? This song seems to say it all. I went out to meet Abi, and arrived really late. Luckily they were late too (traffic) and found me. I met Abi exasperated at her Mum and sister over something, I'm still not entirely sure what. We walked up to Rochester, stopping off at our usual haunts: Sounds Perfect, another 'let's shove all minority world religions together and exploit them' shop, in which I bought some oil for my oil burner, Little Dorrit, in which I tried on a dress, and Rocket, before finishing up, strangely enough, at the Guildhall Museum.

It was a strange day. I brought my Bible along for her to borrow so she could read up on whether she's sexually immoral or not, and all the time I wanted to tell her that she doesn't have to SI, but I just didn't know how. I saw many things I liked and admired, but they were too expensive. In Rocket I was just mucking around, after in Little Dorrit I had pretended to be a Fairy Godmother with a stupid plastic wand thing, and the man said I'd turned her into a frog. "Yes," I said, "She's French." (which she is) In Rocket I found another one, and jokingly said, "Shall I turn you into a frog again?" and a woman behind me said, "Oh, I wouldn't do that, Helen."

People really know how to scare you sometimes. Or to be more precise, Mrs. T knows how to scare me, being a psychology teacher. She introduced us to her daughter Katie, who has to put up with her on a daily basis. It's weird being in the same shop as a teacher, accidentally. I wouldn't have thought that Rocket was Mrs. T's sort of place.

After that we went to the Guildhall Museum, and saw the bit of the exhibition I'd missed last time. When we came out it was dark and wet. People kept shoving "The Big Issue" into our faces, and when I bought one at last the woman said, "Sorry it's damp but I can't help that."

"Sorry *you're* damp," I replied.

"At least you've got a warm home to go to."

True, I thought. Abi said she didn't like the way the woman said that, because she doesn't enjoy her home life, I guess, but I can't blame her. You're bound to feel bitter when the weather's bitter too and you've nowhere to shelter from it.

I walked with Abi to the Pentagon, because I have a traveller ticket, so it doesn't cost me anymore. Abi and I walked, not talking about anything much, just about how the scenery changes in the dark, and how beautiful the Milky Way is, and how dull and artificial the Pentagon is. I wanted to freeze that moment in time. I didn't want to go home alone, worrying about her and work and school and whether the patients got their tea and coffee, and what I'm going to read now I've lent Abi my Bible. Abi said she'd like to go to church for Remembrance Sunday, and she'd call me tomorrow if she decided to go, as an agnostic. I walked with her right up to her bus stop, and we hugged each other farewell, then I turned around and saw Nicola and Nadine from school, and I thought, 'Why did they have to turn up?' We didn't talk at all, but it brought me back to reality, and I guess that's what annoyed me. Apart from Mrs. T, it had seemed like everyone was just part of the scenery, and Abi and I were the real people passing through. Maybe Mrs. T isn't even the exception, she's part of school.

On the bus, this little boy, sitting next his mother, kept turning around and looking at me, and smiling and laughing and talking. His mum kept turning him back, and he wriggled out, eventually protesting loudly. It's amazing the power of a smile over someone... maybe I should have turned away, but I had such a feeling of power, to change someone's mood with an expression, when for my friends I can only talk with futility into empty air, not able to reach their emotions. His mother kept looking at him, but despite the obvious focus of his eyes, she only saw him smiling, and never looked around to discover why.

Sometimes I feel so lonely. I wish that for all my hugging Abi I could really touch her, and that I could touch Sara too, and all the other hurting people, right to the bottom of their souls. This body is nothing but a vessel.

Does anyone other than Nicky ever read these entries? I wish I knew.

Much love,

Helen.

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