Run, Baby, Run : Katie's Weblog

::A daily (when I can be arsed) reference for all those wondering why the hell I act like I do::

Me, April 2003

Would you miss me? If I went? Seriously. I don't think you would. Sure, you'd feel bad for a while that maybe somehow you could have stopped it, made me better. That's bullshit. The only person who can save me now is me, and I don't exist anymore. Some dumbass cyber-bitch has taken over. And neither of us are staying long.

Everything I do is wrong, everything I say is stupid or mean, everything I touch falls to pieces. Trust me, it'll be easier on you all once I'm gone.

So, my bad. Don't get your hopes up, I'm not going just yet. I've got two Summer Concerts to make myself look like a talentless fuck in first....

"I thought you were supposed to be tidying, not computering?" "When are you going you look at uni's/ get a job/ turn into someone we can cope with, like Emma?" Ah, Mammy, if you only knew.... Dad yelled at me today because I told the dog to piss off. She's a dog. It's not like she even listens to me. To be fair, no-one in this house actually listens to me. They let me speak for a while, then twist my words into what they wanted me to say.

Realised with some sadness that I have no-one I would consider to be a best friend. By this I mean someone I consider a best friend who also feels the same. The closest I have has just left, and if I'm honest I lost her a long time ago. The nearest thing to a best friend... isn't. The person I'm currently closest to trusts someone they've known for less than a year more than anyone. Including me, clearly. But, I can guess why. I don't blame him, or her. I blame me.

Haven't updated in a while. Tsk tsk, naughty me. Ach well, as Phil is the only one who reads this tripe, I don't really see a major inbox-flood demanding an update.

Decided I must learn to laugh at myself to fully appreciate life. Like when Dan goes into American Pie, "And this one time, at band camp..." mode, instead of wanting to kick him, I will laugh wholeheartedly and cry, "Gosh, aren't you funny?"

Discovered my fucktard (Thankyou Phil, that word is so good!) Theatre Studies teacher is coming to Holland. My life is over. Argh. Sound like the girl in Angus, Thongs, and Full Frontal Snogging. Merde! Double merde! Poo.

Feeling immensely crap as I sent some texts to Dan that probably went a lot deeper than I wanted to. Industrial strength cover-up will probably be needed to hide the big hole I've just opened in myself. He's now really worried about me and my mental state of mind (mental being the operative word here). Along come long MSN conversations, where my heart is requested to open and pour itself out. My heart isn't the poury kind. I'd rather keep it all bottled up. There are things about me you really don't wanna find out, Dan.

Discovered a whole bunch of old albums, including Lene Marlin's Playing My Game (hence the title). The first song to come on hit me. So the lyrics are going up here. In fact, there's a lot on that album that's painful. Ouchy ouch... I should stop listening to depressing music and listen to happy poppy music, like S Club Juniors, and Girls Aloud......

::Bitching, thongs, and a hell of a lot more than full frontal snogging...::

Stuck in the Sixth Form Centre with the horny elite of the Nether Stowe Sixth Form. In a teeny side room with RHCP playing through my shitty speakers. Dan has turned the conversation from sex to oral sex to wanking to sex. Irritated? Moi? No, actually, I'm kinda used to it.

I have the impression that the entirety of the 6th Form thinks I'm a whore, whereas the truth is I'm probably the least sexually experienced of the lot. Well, second least, possibly. Or third. Even so, grr!

I have just eaten way too much chocolate. But... Double Deckers. Mmmmm... Conversation has now turned to chocolate containing nunga-nunga milk. Dear me... Will update more tonight when there is less chance of people reading over my shoulder.

I have decided that my 'puta has to be of the male persuasion. There is no other explanation. The reasons for this are as follows:

4. It asks stupid questions, i.e. Are you sure this is your password? UM, .......yes!!!!!!

Realised I am becoming a feminist bitch, and this risks me losing my wonderful male friends like Dan, Phil and Ads. And this would suck, as they are about as close to understanding the Y-chromosome as I'm gonna get at the mo. But even so, guys are major irritation at the mo. Grrr.

I have to get off my depressed bitch trip as well as my feminist bitch trip. (Wait, get off feminist trip? I revoke that statement.) I'm starting to sound like Tom My-Life-Sucks-I'm-A-Secret-Homo-No-I'm-Not Black, which is not good news! That guy is also a major arse-pain; along with Mr Jewkes, my fuckward Theatre Studies teacher who seems to think tramping me down in industrial-sized steel-capped mining boots will somehow benefit me in some subtle way. Fuckerfuckerfuckerfuckerfuckerfucker.... Probably because he's some dried up old has-been-who-never-was, and wants to prepare me for the pitfalls of my chosen Drama career. Thanks, Sir, but I get the point. Rejection happens. You can stop now, arsewipe!

The beginning of the end. Or the end of the beginning. Whatever. I decided I'm so fed up with my decidedly crappy life that I'm gonna start a weblog and share said crappiness with the whole world. Well, no, by "the whole world", I mean people I want to see this, which isn't any of my family and about 4 of my friends, Dan, Pip, Adam, and Phil. And it's not gonna tell you everything I'm feeling. There are some things you can't even tell you're best friends. Or yourself, for that matter.

As you may have guessed, I am feeling *slightly* depressed (read very). I have no idea why. I just feel like I have no future and that's stupid. I know exactly what I want to do and I'm becoming aware of the choices available to me. I just can't find the...confidence? to go ahead.

So yeah, that's me. But you should know that by now. If you've gotten here by some random mis-linkage, get out. Quick. Don't taint your mind with my poison.

Now this doesn't sound like a normal 16 year old, intelligent, attractive young girl, with a group of close friends whom she loves and a promising future. And, more often than not, I agree with the above description of myself. But now and then, I just get these shots of crappiness that just knock me for six.

Links

Phil's Blog Spot

Katie's favourite sayings