A Curious Girl: Dreams and so on

I actually did some work today.

I did a tiny bit yesterday too, and then I wrote a couple of verses.

Here's the better one.

"Sometimes I feel it's just all a waste of time

When the students are learning

And the leavers are earning

And I'm just writing rhyme

Just wishing for another time."

It seems to sum everything up, really.

So yesterday I went to the orthodontist's, and had him fiddle around in my mouth as usual, only to tell me to come back in three months time.

THAT WILL BE THE LAST TIME!

Yay!

And I didn't do much after that. I watched "The Murder Rooms" again: just the last episode. As with last time, I nearly cried when Doyle found Elspeth dead on the floor, but this time I was more frustrated at that imbecile who said it was suicide. It's a really weird thought that it all really happened (although I bet the acting wasn't as good).

Last night I had a strange dream: David and Tim (his gorgeous older brother) were going on a journey away somewhere. I can't decide whether it was by rail or by boat, but I'll say they sailed, because that makes it fit slightly easier. I think they were going because of Tim going to Uni; a kind of walkabout to prove his manhood or some such crap.

Anyway, there was some stuff I can't remember or make sense of, and then I was trying to follow them, but I couldn't because a train goes much faster than me on foot. (This is where I got confused; actually later on in the dream it /was/ a boat they went on)

Walking is in general my preferred method of transport.

David came back alone, and he was sad because he was missing Tim, the life and soul of everything (and also a bit of a weirdo - not that I can talk!) and I persuaded his family to hold a party for him to celebrate *his* achievements. It was fun but it wasn't as good as a party for Tim.

Then someone told me that David had gone too (I suppose this has something to do with me worrying about *him* going to Uni next year) and that he hadn't come back, and he was almost certainly dead. I looked across the river (for some reason we were on Rochester Bridge, a setting of many poems and contemplations for me, mainly about how things change and how beautiful the world is) and I saw his boat (see!) overturning and I cry out to save him, but it's too late.

Then (now this is the *really* strange bit) David came to me in secret; he was alive but he had told no-one. No-one, that is, but me.

What do you make of that?

Confession time: yes, I did fancy Tim. He was sweet, he was drop-dead gorgeous, the only problem was he made me feel like a titchy year seven to his many years above me (in fact, he's a few months younger that Stephen, so that makes him 19 going on 20)

He was nice, but although I quite liked him, I never felt any feelings of love as strong as I do for David. But is it love? Is it just that, removed of the object of my crush, I cast my affections onto a similar person, only to realise that he was in fact the better (in my mind, to my situation) than the other?

Maybe it's just I was flattered when I thought David cared for me.

This is deep stuff, and I haven't a clue what the answer is, but I do have an idea as far as the dream is concerned.

Ever since David's own personal 'just good friends' speech, (for which I now think I can hardly blame him, I mean we hardly know each other, and I don't suppose I seem especially *worth* knowing in his mind) I've been wanting to tear myself away yet wanting to move closer at the same time. David was obviously dead (OK, never mind the fact that *I've* capsized in the River Medway and lived; for all intents and purposes, he was dead) but to me he was alive. So he was solely mine, but then he's dead, so I can call the shots, plus he's been a dirty rat not telling people he's alive so I can hereby dump him, if I so wish.

Get it?

I'm not sure I do.

After writing my last diary entry, I went on Yahoo to chat with Chelle and Saz: I managed to find them, only to strike up another conversation with a Wiccan.

14/m/Ca was all I learned about him, other that he himself had been a Christian in the past. He kept asking why I was in The Graveyard, and it occurred to me that I hadn't really thought about it. In truth, there was only one reason; I was looking for Chelle and Saz. Unfortunately Mum and Clive came in, and cut short that conversation, so I couldn't tell him that.

It occurs to me that I haven't a clue about what a Goth is, other than liking the colour black. He seemed to think that Indigothe1st is a gothic name, but it is really just something enigmatic, like 'sweet-indigo'.

I love the colour indigo.

I told him I was looking for my friends, he said "are your friends gothic?"

Well Michelle is kind of, she's really more of a punk; and I think Sara just likes the music. She's not exclusively goth. So he thought I was strange, which I am.

"We are strangers,

We are aliens,

We are not of this world." -Petra

I can't remember whether I actually said Chelle and Saz were gothic or not, I don't think I did, but never mind.

I know I'm going to have to miss Afterchurch tomorrow, but never mind; I think I can cope. It's just those poxy English essays.

Ooh, I can feel a reminiscence coming on... Marie P. used to say 'poxy'. It's funny, thinking back, about how Dianne (my childminder when I was 11) used to be with her children. It seemed perfectly innocent to me at the time, but I'd swear she punished them in a strange, passive kind of way....

She didn't tell off Marie when she bitched at me, but then she didn't stop me trying to watch their game of monopoly (oh it was so damn obvious - I stood by the living room door so I could peer in and still pretend to be watching TV, even though there were seats available.

Usually Dianne didn't fuss about what channel the TV was on, even if she knew what I liked to watch; but once she refused to allow them to change the channel because "Helen's watching Garfield" and *then* there was the way she allowed Pixie, the cat from a few houses on, into the house and even fed him milk when she knew perfectly well Marie had a mild cat allergy.

It's odd thinking, because it's only retrospect; I was too young and naive to notice it at the time. But still...

I went to the hospital today, as usual, to do my 10-2 voluntary work: did the drinks, the lunches, the rubbish bags, the menus, and as a change, I watered the flowers.

The funny thing about that was it is perhaps the easiest job I have done, but suddenly everyone thought I was fantastic. "God bless you," one woman said as I topped her vase up. Pushing the tea-trolley's flipping hard work and yet when I carry around a water-jug, they love me.

Drives me mad. Mum said it was the personal attention; the fact that it was an unnecessary yet helpful task to do.

I do the hospital work because I wanted to be a doctor. I say 'wanted', past tense, because I don't know what I want anymore. I can't think of anything to which I am suited.

I just don't know what to do. But at least I know I'll have a load of decent qualifications at the end of it, no matter what I want to do.

Random word for today:

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