Hole in the head.

I really don't know how to sum this up.

I'm not at school anymore. I'm not happy or sad about that.

I sleep until 2pm, wake up, walk around a little, and then stay in my room. I feel weighted though I don't have many things to worry about anymore.

I didn't want to go back to school. I had no motivation to do anything. I remember just thinking 'I don't want, I don't want' because I couldn't trap it down to just one discernable thing.

I've been put on indefinite leave from school because I'm suffering with major depression and if I carried on being there, I wouldn't have held up for long.

I wasn't allowed to just leave like I wanted to because people have now decided that I can't make my own decisions. That annoys me more than anything. They talk about being 'fixed' like I'm a bike or a horny dog.

I feel awful. I go to school feeling bad, I get home feeling so much worse. I go home and lie in bed. I talk to people because I have to. If I go out to see people I come home feeling blank.

Today's just a bad day. I've just been feeling really bad.

I can't think of anything else.

This makes me look like Jesus.

Zut alors...

I'm a bit of a martyr, you know that, right?

My lovely husband (political marriage, don't ask) came to me in a state of near despair last night.

EVIL COMPANY* had sent him the wrong DVD.

The poor love had been looking to enrich his mind** with Ray Mears' Northern Wilderness and instead received 'Allo 'Allo Series Three***.

After the initial argument over which was better I said I'd phone the next day and get it all sorted out for him because I'm awesome like that and also because getting to phone a company and say "I'm calling on behalf of my husband" aged 16 seems kinda thrilling in comparison with my somewhat mundane life.

It took me a solid hour to find the contact details for this company. They're not a small company either. UK and Europe-wide.

Today I phoned up foolishly expecting a person to answer the phone but instead got one of those automated receivers who talk in a really soft voice like in a 1960's porn film. It gave me a list of things to do, but in the end said 'for all other enquiries, please hold'. What could this mean?

People people! Talky talky!

Within two minutes I was put on hold again.

And then again.

And then finally when they tried to put me on hold again I yelled "NO DON'T PUT ME ON HO-" and then Yellow Submarine started playing.

I suffered for this.

Eventually it all got sorted out, and it was an unexpected confidence booster because half of my job is customer services in store.

I pretty much deserve Hubs' soul for this.

---

* Not calling names. I doubt that it happens often of else they'd be easier to bloody contact.
** Hahahahaha...
*** Which, personally, I think rocks.

"That's life, this life."

I'd say I've been waiting around for shit to start happening but that would be a lie, children.

I've been waiting for shit to stop happening. It still hasn't stopped but I've got time for you now between lying in bed reeling at my considerable luck or lack thereof and watching Moomin DVDs.

Where did I leave off? Oh yes. Valentine's Day, which was spent working and generally taking the piss out of my managers as per usual ("There's an easier way to shift stock, you know, Nicole." "There's an easier way to shift YOUR FACE." "Yeah... well... YOUR MUM'S FACE!" "Oh! But... YOUR MUM'S FACE'S FACE'S- Oh, can I help you sir?"). I also met up with my cousins who are the very Faces Of Awesome, but due to 'unforeseen circumstances' such as my auntie being a magician's assistant and being cut in half (that's what she says whenever she show us all her battle scars) and the fact that Oslo is probably closer than they are in merry ol' Norfolk (near London), I haven't seen them in maybe four years. (I've just looked it up. Norfolk is closer than Oslo - WHEN DID NORWAY GET SO FAR AWAY?)

Gawwwwd I love them.

The funeral was on Monday, and Christicles, it was funny. I'm sorry, it was. I was, no fear, choking up for the beginning bit when the coffin showed up and then when my brother and co. carried it into the crematorium (why, WHY did there have to be smoke rising from the fecking chimney when we arrived?), but after a while it was such a God-awful affair that it was ust hilarious. The night before, we'd all met up at my aunt's house to get a stoopid bluddy hymn nailed out because we didn't know which version we had. After waaaaay too much faffing we thought we had it and then at the funeral we gave everyone these song sheets only to discover that the version we'd given the Co-op people was too short and so we missed 4 verses and that was the end of that.

Someone nicked off with the ministers clothes, and so he apologised if his ankles offended anyone because he had to borrow a gown that was too small for him.

"What's New Pussycat?" started playing at the end and I couldn't stop laughing. The minister gave me a death-grip handshake afterwards.

My mum had bought all the granddaughters/great-granddaughters little silver crosses except for me, and I put about that it was because the shop didn't have enough crosses. At the after party (that's all I can describe it as... a funeral after party) my sister put about the slightly more accurate though rather extremist idea that "Really? Mum said it was because you hate God." Thanks Cleo. You've really cleared me with the distant relatives.

The after party... Ohhh... It was at my aunt's house, and I spent most of the night drinking amazing concoctions that my recently-18 cousin made. "Torangina" was the favourite all round - gin, tonic and orangina. 'Twas most nomful.

Nearly died instantly whilst 'holding' a roll-up. Never laugh with a roll-up in your mouth. The conversation after I recovered went something like: "Well you're supposed to inhale!" "I KNOW THAT! BUT YOU'RE NOT MEANT TO INHALE THE WHOLE FUCKING CIGARETTE!" at which point my sister started her sniffing campaign because she's a Suspicious McSnifferson.

It was a random night. My camera is full of videos of making melty marshmallow biscuits, dancing to Michael Jackson's Thriller in sync, and trying to find the right proportions for "Jesusful Torangina". My auntie upheld one of my favourite memories of my grandma, a conversation a few weeks before she died about how she'd spent her better days scoring LSD with my auntie. I was running backwards and forwards fetching spliffs for said auntie by the end of the night.

I love my family. We do this funeral shit in style. I can proudly say my grandma would have loved it. It was a pretty intense send-off. It had every attendee in bed for all of the next day.

Yesterday the sun shone on a party,
And everybody shone at the sun.

Mostly Autumn - The Spirit Of Autumn Past (Part II)

Happy Chinese New Year!

May all your Chinese dreams come true. (Or hit translate on that - everyone's a winner!)

I could be a heist-ish person. I can be sneaky. Look: Shhh...

I hate shopping at any time around Valentine's Day. But it's a necessary evil, I live (conveniently) in the middle of town (the general term for where the shops are in York) and I happen to be a strong believer in retail shopping.

Yesterday I'd sank into one of my black moods and I left school at lunchtime, I'd pulled that string thing in one leg (hamstring? Hammerstring? Something like that) and I couldn't walk all the way home easily, so I took the bus into town with the sole intention of going home and lying in bed for the rest of the night.

Then just randomly I thought I needed to buy another DVD for film studies.

And maybe a couple of other DVDs...

And a Indiana Jones box set (so sue me).

And then I went to Lush. Lush is amazing. Lush is the shop that you can smell from the other end of the street. It's a shop full of bath bombs and soaps and face masks and yum. I stopped at a counter. Something smelled INCREDIBLY of chocolate. On a whim I bought shower jelly, which I love because you can hurl it at the bathroom mirror and it explodes everywhere (Don't tell my mum that... Jesus...) and it's a nice change to a normal shower when you rub jelly into your hair and you smell kind of like what I imagine Jesus would smell like if he took a shower.

And then I went to Starbucks. Every time I go into Starbucks I always try to convince myself that I'm not being stripped of my hard-earned quids every time I take a sip, but when a cheesecake and a coffee to go add up to £4.80 (Approx. $8.50), I feel kinda like I out to have someone feeding me my amazing blueberry swirl cheesecake.

By this point I was feeling a little less like I wanted to die, and despite the fact that EVERYWHERE I was seeing smug couples holding Anne Summers bags (lingerie galore), I felt kinda great because I was walking through town with a HMV bag and a Lush bag, and I basically looked like any stereotypical, perpetually single person does at this time of year: Rough around the edges, with a bath bomb in one bag and a romantic film in the other.

Well they were WRONG because I actually had shower jelly and The Italian Job.

I really want a Mini Cooper.

Anyway, I am being utterly oblivious to Valentine's Day this year as I am every year and because my B-E-A-Utiful True Blood calendar also tells me that it is Chinese New Year on the 14th so I'm celebrating that instead.

SUCK ON THAT, HALLMARK!

"In an ordinary world I'd call this home."

There are things I love and hate about York.



York, collectively, I quite like. The people of York generally suck, espesh those who come into Argos wanting things and being all mardy when I don't jump back on my hind legs and do tricks for their entertainment. (I do my job and I do it well, but some people just go too far.)



Now... Walmgate I do love. Walmgate is my part of York (trust me, no one else would want it) and as such, is probably a complete hole. Most people would tell you that Tang Hall is the worst place in York, and what do I say to that? Bulllllshit. Tang Hall may be rough, but we Walmgateers TOTALLY WIN where drugs/drink/crime is concerned. (TURF WARS!) God, I love it.



I've said before that I love Walmgate and its adorable petty crime (which is oddly characteristic of the place) and I'll just say that it still stands that way. My friend says it's the only place in York where you can light up a spliff in the street and no one'll call you out. Huzzah! I took that as a compliment.



I always blow about how I can't stand being stuck in the same place for years on end but really it's home that keeps my head above the water.

Thanks Walmgate, York. I promise I'll lend you my lighter next time you ask.

"Complication, aggravation is getting to you."

Just one of the many products of being dragged up raised by a punk and a heavy-metal/hard rock bassist guy who looks like The Crow is that I have a hot, raw love for every aspect of music.

Last night it was Aerosmith.

I work to music, I live to music and there are probably endless hours of CCTV footage of me at work singing whilst handing over change, which is unfortunate because the music at work is usually rather shoddy, though it still makes me happy. Music doesn't have to be deemed 'good' for me to enjoy it. I have easy ears.

Anyhoo, last night I was working away on my film studies coursework and I started typing up a storm to "Love In An Elevator" by Aerosmith. I forgot about it, checked the word count and was staggered to see I was 200 words over the limit.



Then I deleted all the lyrics I'd typed and I was suddenly short of 500 words.

Balls.


So, despite that, here's a fabulous video of Aerosmith's Ragdoll because they gave me hours of procrastination last night. It's a totally awesome song and fabulous to play on Guitar Hero.

(Ignore the first ten seconds...)



Baby won't you do me like you done befooooore?

Another reason why processed food is baaaad.

This morning I was woken up to "Get up, we're going to the co-op."

I should have been suspicious. We never shop at the co-op.



The co-op, ladies and gents, is a store, specifically a food store. It's your average local convenience store, big enough for odds and ends, but no good if you want to fill your fridge for a week. (At least that's what I've been led to believe. Very competitive are these supermarkets.)

Anyway, I was being dragged across York towards nowhere that had ever seen a co-op to my knowledge before stopping outside The Co-operative Funeralcare.

I turn to my mum: "I thought that was a joke!"

The co-op. The bloody co-op do funerals.

Well. Fuck me sideways.

Turns out they do cardboard coffins as well. I thought that was kinda amazing.

You see, I, being a total tree-hugger when I have the energy (and being dead, I'd leave it to someone else), would have a cardboard coffin for my funeral because it is eco-friendly and uber quirky because it looks like something you'd bring home a hamster from Pets At Home in. It's great, only I'd be worried (in my dead, corpsey state) that if it rained the cardboard would go soggy and I'd fall out and roll into a ravine or something, because that would be something even my dead, weathered corpse would do because I perpetually have that kind of luck.

Anyway. Would you trust a food store that offered funerals with your veggies?

I'm not sure I do.

Higher than hope.

I was kinda hoping that I'd get some time to write about what was happening before it actually happened.

This has been going on for maybe three weeks, but it all ended yesterday.

On Sunday night we all stopped over for food at my auntie's house, where my other auntie from Norfolk (The bit of Southern England that sticks out like a big round boob) was staying for a couple of days. My Norfolk auntie is mad. Totally manic. I love her insanely, she's got such infectious enthusiasm. My grandma told me a few weeks ago (when I was marvelling over the fact she'd drank a bottle of whisky in two hours and was totally normal) that her and my Norfolk auntie spent some awesome times with my uncle Ozzy (surname: Osbourne. I shit you not) scoring acid in the woods.

Anyway, on Sunday night my Norfolk auntie said at the end of a fabulous meal (my mum and both of my aunties have all been chefs at some point: win) "Let's just hope she goes without pain and that she isn't suffering anymore, because we all have to go sometime, sweethearts".

My grandma, my badass, awesome grandma, was put into a hospice temporarily a few weeks ago whilst they sorted her meds out (she'd forget to take them). About four days in they decided that she'd probably be in for a bit longer than they thought.

About a week ago my mum came home saying that Grandma had days left. I've tried to visit everyday since then. My first thought when I saw her was that she looked like she was melting (don't judge, my mind doesn't function on a courteous level). She's always had a fighting spirit, and when she wasn't strong enough to stay sat up in her wheelchair/bed she'd still ask to get out. When no one would let her out of bed (for her own sake) she threatened to shit in her bed unless they let her out (you can SO tell that we were related). She won that round.

This morning I left school after an hour feeling God-awful. I'm trying to be helpful, I look after my sister, nieces and nephew whilst my mum, aunts and brother run around after Grandma, I clean the house, cook food, go to work, do homework, sleep for Not Very Long and then go to school, and it's been the same for maybe three weeks. Totally worn out.

At about 3pm today my mum called and said she was going to drop by the hospice after work and then we'd go buy some food. I almost asked to go with her but I thought that'd be too fussy, so I stayed at home. 1 and a half hours later I got another call. Mum in tears saying grandma had died.




I had no idea what I was doing. I paced backwards and forwards trying to work out if I was going to cry or not, I thought about phoning BFF Main Gay.5, I thought about trying to call my dad. In the end I went to pick my sister up from school. I had to deliver the news.

And now I feel quiet. And sad, somewhere in the background. Anxious too, slightly, because I have to take time off school to sort stuff out. But I'm glad that she's not fighting anymore.

But now my mum owns grandma's house. Her and my sister are going to move in there, and me and my dad are going to stay where we live now. Dad'll be away for weeks at a time and I'll be more or less living on my own at age sixteen.

Scary potatoes.

Kathleen Rosemary Rogerson: 1st of Febuary, aged 70.

"Time, it took the most of me
And left me with no key
To unlock the chest of remedy."

Higher Than Hope - Nightwish

This is how it goes so far.

I keep thinking of ways to come back and say what's been happening since, Christicles, ages ago.

Lots of stuff has happened, lots of stuff hasn't happened and my sister, as ever, is being a cock.

Which makes me laugh really. It's nice that some things are consistent.

Mostly when I sit down to type something it goes like this.

The ceiling at Fibbers looks like any other living room ceiling. I can see it clearly because I'm stood on a platform. I'm stood on a platform because I'm working on the lighting desk. I'm looking at the ceiling because I'm shitting-bricks-nervous. A torch flashes side stage and I plunge the bar into darkness as the music starts. I'm muttering OkayokayokayokayI'mokayokayokay... under my breath and I'm hyperventilating. Stage fright from behind the crowd.

This is one of the more exciting things that has happened. I lit a show, lighting-engineer-style, one night last week and I didn't cock up. I even got a 'nice light show!' afterwards. I was nervous because I'm used to the lighting board at a bar called The Duchess and I learnt to use the board at Fibbers roughly three and a half minutes before the band started playing.

It went okay. It went well, even.

School's... iffy. I feel ill and tired most days, I'm actually off school today. I went in for one lesson and bleurgh.

I was horrified to discover that the new and improved Maryland cookies taste of ash, even though the improvement is that they've been made with golden syrup. I love golden syrup!

What a gyp.

What else, apart from The Big Thing?

My sister keeps sticking googly eyes to the vegetables in the fridge. I made mushroom stroganoff and it was looking up at me from the plate. I papped myself.

That's all I can be bothered to recap with right now.