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Tomorrow is my last day of school. In many ways, today was nondescript: uninteresting, uninspiring and unmemorable. I don’t know if there will be much I’ll remember about today in a few weeks’ time but it would be nice if I could remember something of tomorrow.

French was a little bit of a haze. My mind wasn’t there and my heart really wasn’t in it while I took down notes as we listened to grainy recordings of Frenchmen and women talking about everything from public transport to DVDs. It was, truthfully, a little tedious and I found it hard to focus. Some days I just want to switch off.

All my good intentions to get on with some work in my only free lesson today were spoilt when I was accosted in the sixth form block and presented with a few girls’ leaving books to sign. I wrote a few good-hearted messages (“It’s been wonderful to be in lessons with you!” and “Good luck at university; I know you’ll do brilliantly!”) though I mostly felt rather uninspired and disingenuous. The whole experience simply served to reinforce the reasons why I do not have a comparable notebook. There are, in fact, two books sitting in the third drawer of my desk that would’ve been perfect: one was a gift from Rachelle for my birthday and the other is covered with black beads. The latter served as a diary for a few weeks a year or so ago but I found it again the other day and tore out all of the pages without reading them so now it is empty, which is how I rather like it.

I am possibly overcome with misanthropy or malevolence but having a few pages filled with tepid run-of-the-mill comments from people I’ve hardly spoken to for years seems a little counterproductive to me. Perhaps there are some people who would like to write to me in such a way but I feel I have a pretty good idea how all of the people I truly care about feel and, when I’m lonely at university, thinking of them is going to bring me a great deal more solace than reading a few rushed comments from vague acquaintances ever could. It would be lovely if I could simply embrace the idea in the spirit in which it’s intended but I seem to lack the capacity to accept anything at face value.

I distrust what other people would write because I distrust what I have written. I haven’t written anything I do not believe but Phil said to me today, upon reading what I had written in Jessica’s book, “You write like a teacher.” Clearly, this is a way of saying I’m so emotionally closed-off that the best I can do is hide behind long words and flowery phrases; this is perhaps true. I’m not the most affectionate of people. I’m not terribly vocal in my feelings. I rely on a supposition that people know how I feel about then and, in all honesty, I believe those I care for the most know that. Perhaps I am a little narrow-sighted but to most people in the sixth form I’ll be little more than “Charlotte who was going to Cambridge”, “Charlotte who lent me her history file” or “Charlotte who we only ever saw occasionally”; what these people have to say to me in the form of polite pleasantries is inconsequential and of no interest whatsoever. I only care about what the people who really know me think.

I spent break time in the library, feeling a little fed up and light-headed, doing my history homework. I didn’t manage to finish it all so I told Mr Watson that I’d left it at home and would drop it in tomorrow morning. I’ve still not even glanced at it and, upon reflection, have ascribed completely the wrong school of thought to one of the two interpretations so the fact I have to start all over again is putting me off picking it to finish. Charlotte Williams and Ben seemed to only do theirs in note form so I see no reason why I shouldn’t follow suit and do the same; it’d certainly save time and maybe even make things a little easier. I seem to get awfully confused by the structure we’ve been told to abide by.

I don’t quite remember the course of events in French just before lunch though Mr Goss told us that his father was a plumber.

I felt a little fragile and on edge at lunchtime too but that had, thankfully, passed by about one o’clock and this afternoon wasn’t quite so bad. I rather regret answering, “Not really!” to Mr Watson’s question about whether or not I had anything else to add on the topic of revisionist historians. True to form, he asked me why not and I quite plainly said because I wasn’t sure of what he was asking. When he clarified, I dutifully answered though I had a palpable sense of simply going through the motions. The bell went almost immediately afterwards and I felt a little bad for being so curt. I shall give him a card tomorrow thanking him for everything and that shall, hopefully, be a form of absolution. He apologised at the end of our last lesson for “not believing in parties”.

Dr Cownie, on the other hand, proved herself to be a big believer in parties, providing us with cloudy lemonade, chocolate cake and Blackadder (which I find impossible to like on the grounds that it stars Rowan Atkinson and he will forever be Mr Bean to me). She even let us leave at quarter past three, which was nice. I walked home feeling oddly deflated and a little disagreeable but that passed quite quickly too. I feel like I’m continuously hitting into brick walls at the moment but, so long as I keep finding ways around them, I don’t think it’s a cause for concern; it just turns out that stress manifests itself in various ways. There is a lot of pressure on me at the moment, most of which is born from the standards I set myself. I just really need quiet, calm and control at the moment and all three of them seem impossibly elusive.

However, in spite of all of that, my main grievance at the moment is our milk. My mother bought some this morning as we’d run out but it’s semi-skimmed so it’s so thick and completely foreign to me. I can barely stand to drink it. Drinking skimmed milk (albeit in coffee and with cereal) is a much easier task to surmount and I am unprepared to listen to my father forewarning of osteoporosis if I were to cut it out altogether. Similarly, as much as I dislike the idea of eggs, I persist in the eating them for fear of not getting enough protein and, as long as I don’t hear a story about a child putting an egg from a supermarket in the airing cupboard and hatching a chick a few weeks down the line, they are easy to rationalise. My vegetarianism, which is now approaching its fourth month, is going well though my attempts at healthy eating are not (having been completely ruined by the chocolate cake and innumerable other things this past week). On a good day, I manage quite easily four out of the recommended five-a-day portions of fruit and vegetables; on a very good day, I make it to five. Today, however, is quite easily defined as a bad day and that makes me feel a little sad as I am fed up of all of my “achievements” (insofar as healthy eating can be classed as an achievement) are confined to academics. I look after my brain so I should look after my body (hence the reason a gym membership is firmly on the cards this summer).

I had my final notification regarding student finance through yesterday. Through the combination of loans, local education authority grants and the Cambridge Bursary, I should just about to be able to cover all of my costs quite comfortably. I’ve got a little bit saved too and I have an incredible amount of determination to work all summer long so I am hoping to be in a good position in October.

I met a boy from Gowerton School yesterday called Josh. He’s got an open offer for Chemistry in Oxford and seemed very pleasant. We had the Oxbridge photograph taken clumsily by Mr Crabb in the library as Mrs Simpkins complained we looked “miserable” and “wooden” and then Jenny and I showed him around Olchfa little bit (skipping a bit of politics in the process). Angelina gave him her ‘phone number just before he got into his taxi, causing me to make a little joke at her expense; she’s lovely though and it’s nice to get back at her sometimes because she often has the ability to make me feel like a naïve, quaint little girl. A few minutes ago, she asked me where I saw her in ten years’ time. This is one of the two questions from the yearbook questionnaire (the other options asks who you wish you had kissed). I provided a very positive description of how I saw her, which seemed mostly accurate as her vision was similar (though she emphasised the “evangelising” aspect a little more strongly than I did). In return, I posed the same question to her and was told that she sees me “in politics” and, after a telling moment, perhaps “contemplating marriage to a nice gentleman”. It’s interesting how people see you and how your priorities are different to those of other people; without a shadow of a doubt, Angelina’s faith is the most important thing in her life. What is the most important thing in my life?


( 6 comments — Leave a comment )
May. 24th, 2007 09:49 pm (UTC)
People had those books at my school, too. I stuck in minature pictures of the Duke of Wellington. The only comments I'd want are from people I know I'll keep in touch with. Or, teachers. But I keep in touch with teachers as well. It's very false. University changes everything.

I have so many empty notebooks. It's reassuring to know they're there should I ever begin the insurmountable task of writing down my actions or feelings.

I'm looking forward to your being at Cambridge.
May. 24th, 2007 10:28 pm (UTC)
I'm looking forward to your being at Cambridge.
Me too. I'm a little bit terrified though (and still very anxious to decide which papers to do).
May. 25th, 2007 01:51 am (UTC)
Are they asking you to choose your first two British?
If there are any in particular you're interested in, I know people that have done them all, apart from the Medieval ones, so could give you my impression of them?
May. 25th, 2007 01:43 am (UTC)
Your diary entries are beautiful and sad and funny. "My main grievance at the moment is our milk." If you become a famous writer, someday, academics everywhere are going to have a field day with your LJ when they write your biography....
(Deleted comment)
May. 26th, 2007 06:04 pm (UTC)
You are really kind! ♥
Your icon is also adorable!
May. 25th, 2007 01:49 pm (UTC)
I know what you mean about the whole book-signing thing... it always happens on last days, and also people who never usually speak to you suddenly approach you and say


Weird, no? But hey, humans are weird.
( 6 comments — Leave a comment )