Don’t be silly. Of course I’m not angry. Nope, I’m not. Honest. I don’t mind spending a good twenty minutes writing out a meaningful post about how it seems that whilst on the cusp of adulthood all young people must go through a stage where they joyfully proclaim i-didn’t-ask-to-be-here-and-i-don’t-like-being-here-god-dammit-i-hate-you-all-and-you-all-hate-me-too [rather like a Rite of Passage], only to have my words lost in the nether-regions of cyber space.
I loved being like that as a teenager. Let’s be honest, who doesn’t crave the attention that you get from being having such a daft attitude? I was the first person in my year to wear Doc Marten’s. I was about thirteen. Possibly. And I was the first person to be a goth. Again, aged about thirteen. I was one of the first in my year to smoke. And I was the exceptionally quiet one who bottled it all up and argued with the teacher. Ooh, and I was the one who bagged a boyfriend on the French Exchange, again aged thirteen, and much to the annoyance of the Popular Girls. Oh, the respect that commanded from my contemporaries was good. For a day or so, and then they got bored. But I loved being me. I still love being me. I’m just the grown-up version now.
Longing for Wolverhampton. And a cigarette.
It was such a happy post as well. Oh well.
If my period has finished then why am I still getting period pains?
[70 hours & 10 minutes]
please God bless my scrogginess and let me be happy when teaching the nippers tomorrow xxx Elsabeth
[And many thanks for all the supportive comments … I love you all. But not in that way]