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Sunday, 28 February 2016

18 Things I've Learned Since Turning 14

Damn Stella!
Back at it again with the life lessons.
Feisty man, feisty!!

1. School actually doesn't suck that bad. Except for Sociology. Sociology still sucks. I'm going to fail it.

2. 11 year old twins with red hair have red hair for a reason. They are the children of  Satan. They have no chill and will not hesitate to harass you on your way home.

3. 14 is the best you'll ever have it in terms of responsibility. You don't got to pay no bills. You don't got to pay no taxes. You don't even gotta pour yo own damn milk.

4. There is genuinely nothing more terrifying than having to read back an essay two weeks after doing it and seeing whether or not you've actually got the grade you wanted.

5. Writing stories is harder than you think.

6. If you offer one person gum, essentially you're offering the world gum. Don't offer gum. You will run out of gum.

7. The cost of gum inevitably adds up. Hear me out. A pack of gum lasts the average teen about two days because it seems like the majority of us wants to screw up our jaws by the age of 25. A pack of gum costs around 60 pence (0.83 US dollars) depending on how fancy you want to be and whether or not you're willing to break the bank. I am not. In a week that's about 2.5 packs of gum (1 if you're me, or a decent human being who understand the concept of gum and does not believe it is another means of nutrition.) which adds up to a pound fifty (about two dollars). Times that by the amount of weeks in an academic year and you get about 60 pounds (83 dollars). Times that by the amount of years you attend high school (about 5 in England) and you've spent at least 300 pounds (Dude that's 416 dollars!) by the time you're 16. On freaking gum. Gum!!!! And you've probably messed up your jaws whilst doing so.

8. Shit gets harder.

9. Spending 4 hours reading a book isn't unproductive.

10. People are incredibly judgmental and it's okay. Well, no it's not but potatoes gonna potate.

11. People talk a heck of a lot. Turning 14 hasn't somehow turned me into this incredibly verbally withdrawn person. I still speak. But I think I've become more aware of how valuable silence is and how much stupid stuff people talk about.

12. Challenging yourself is probably the best thing that you can do.

13- Always remember to write the dang formula.

14. Sitting away from your friends in class really isn't that bad.

15. It sucks. I'm not going to lie. Being 14 does suck quite a lot but so does being 11 or 12 or 13. I have no doubt in my mind that 15 will suck too.

16. I'm an incredibly depressing person at times.

17. Waking up early is pretty cool. Although it kills me to admit it.

18. 14 doesn't mean you're any wiser than you were two months ago. You're still pretty stupid, believe it or not.

Friday, 19 February 2016

I ain't got aim. But dammit, I've got gumption woman!!!!

In all fairness, I was probably hallucinating from how attractive he was.


Lunch times for me are usually spent swooning over that one particular blonde guy in the year above me. I suppose swooning isn't the word I'm looking for here. Obsessing perhaps would be a better choice of words. Lunch times for me are usually spent obsessing over that one particular blonde guy in the year above me. He is the type of guy that earns you a skeptical look just at his mention. As if his name itself possesses the same tallness that he does. And in comparison to my five foot something of a structure, it's understandable. It has not always been understandable. But any guy that looks like he could take on a semi pro basketball player at the age of 15 is understandably too tall for a 14 year old Jabba the Hutt.

I have the athletic prowess of a 90 year old blobfish. In fact my biggest athletic achievement took place when I was ten and involved running through a series of hula hoops in a considerably short amount of time. I have not achieved anything as remarkable as that since. If anything I've gotten worse. Jabba the Hutt probably has a better chance of catching a tennis ball than I do.

My lack of athletic ability has been the root of many embarrassing moments in my lifetime. Most recently the netball incident, in which I managed to pass the ball to the opposing team instead of my own. But one of the most embarrassing moments I've inflicted upon myself takes place about 3 years ago.

After school clubs at the time that I had arrived at my high school were compulsory. You had to do it. You really didn't have a choice. Unless you somehow manged to come down with a serious case of athletes foot sometime between 8:30 and 2:55. And no one had managed to do that. After school clubs were a weird convention. At 3:00 you'd line up and get escorted to the assembly hall. At 3:10 they'd completely butcher your name and tell you your assigned group. At 3:12 ( or any time after that depending on how long you managed to annoy the teacher for) you'd go to your designated club.

Mine on that particular day was basketball. Apparently his was too. 'His' being the blonde guy in the year above me. Rest assured I embarrassed myself. You see, one thing you should know about me is that my hand to eye coordination is pretty much non existent when it comes to actual game scenarios. Warm ups I'm fine with. Run throughs, great. Games, you might as well bench me for the rest of it.
And so it didn't help that just as the first game ended I decided I'd be the one to throw the ball from the sideline. Soon as the second game began I threw the ball. To of course what should have been the blonde guy -who by the way was clearly signalling for me to pass it to him and might I add looking mighty fine whilst doing so- but what ended up being the empty space of nothingness to the side of him. Once again sending the ball out of the sidelines. Cue the applause now.

The one time I get to show off how amazingly agile and sporty I am and I screw it up.
Dammit!!!I didn't even play it off that well. I probably could've faked an arm spasm or something.

A part from that one time there hasn't been many encounters with him. I assume he's just afraid that a stray basketball ball might just come out of nowhere and hit him in the face. It really wouldn't be the first time.

Saturday, 13 February 2016

Earnest Beginnings


I'm kinda on a 60's kick.


I was nothing but skin and bones the day I arrived at their house. Barely human by my standards. Or anyone elses for a matter of fact. I done walked a thousand miles before I came up to that place and I would've walked a thousand more if it wasn't for Mrs Bail.

Mrs Bail didn't actually own the house, she was just the house keeper there, but she could spot a dying girl when she saw one. The woman dragged me into that house faster than the a current would. I suppose she saw something in me. Either that or she didn't want a black girl dying on her doorstep in the middle of the summer. But I preferred to believe the former. A black person dying on your land was the only thing that scared a white person more than actually losing their land. Death was about the only thing that could bring a middle aged man to his knees in fear. I guess they thought that we would haunt them or something. And I didn't want to believe that fear was the only thing that kept me in that house as long as it did.

I hadn't stayed in that house longer than five minutes before I knew I wasn't welcome. A person can tell where they're not wanted in the first 45 seconds of visiting a place and it don't take much intelligence to figure something like that out. Mr Clark made it obvious enough. He was the type of man that made no attempts to hide his displeasure towards you. Wouldn't mind cussing you out in the hallways either. But as the owner of the house I knew not to reciprocate. I could've dished out obscenities to him like a three course meal by midday. But I'd have gotten kicked out quicker than I could say sorry.

Mr Clark hadn't taken it too kindly that his housekeeper had invited a complete stranger into his dwelling. Let alone a black one. The man kept pacing around the room like he was stomping out fires. Kept breathing like a lunatic too. It was as if he'd never seen a damn black girl before in his entire life. If it wasn't for his speed I would have lassoed the man. Stop him for long enough to tell him that the floor boards were wearing thin. Stop him from forgetting that I was no foreigner to that house.

Sometimes it's better to find your own ending then to have it written in stone.
And I was never one to finish a story.
.............

I think the most tragic trait a person could ever possess is to believe that they themselves are entitled to the world. A fool so self righteous that to them suffering is nothing but a broken heel or split end or two. Most people don't even know how good they've got it. And there ain't anything worse than seeing a rich girl wallow in her own self pity over nothing more than an 18 hour car ride to Sweden. God forbid you tell that girl to swallow her pride. There ain't much that's more infuriating than trying to argue with a person who ain't got a humble bone in their body.

Friday, 5 February 2016

I'll So Offend To Make Offence A Skill

 The title has no real relevance to the post but it seemed rather fitting as I'm currently studying Shakespeare.

I think that one of the coolest things you could ever really witness as a student is a teacher that's so into what they do, it's as if they've never known anything else or ever wanted to do anything more than teach. Like nothing, not even the end of the entire world, could ever stop them from teaching. I'm pleased to say that I've met a few of these in my lifetime.

My English teacher has this belief that the death of the writer is the birth of the reader. The instant a piece of writing becomes published it's like it was never really theirs to begin with. Anything from the point of publishing that is imagined deduced or suggested, is exactly what the writer had intended to mean. So take from this what you will. Unless what you're taking from it is drugs. In which case that's not what I was intending. Take from this anything other than drugs.  Also, I have an essay on Henry IV to complete next week and I'm genuinely terrified of failing.

Broken cities

You can fall a thousand times in this city and nobody will do so much as to steal a glance. It don't matter if you're black, white, blue, pink, or one train ride away from losing your mind, not even the most idle of fools will help you. You wave a dollar bill in their face though, well you'll have them hooked like a fish. Won't even fret for three seconds to help you on your feet. For five bucks you might even get them to carry your bag all the way home for you. That's if you're brave. You'll get that thing taken off you faster than a Peregrine falcon if you call for the wrong type of attention. And the wrong type of attention ain't that far from the corner shop across the road. The dumpsters at the back of that place aren't much more than finished ointment tubes and broken youths picking through empty pill bottles. Now a days it seems like faith takes place in a bottle of red pills.