Maybe tomorrow

Genuinely lovely weekend. And it all started so horribly. On Friday night when I got home I was shattered, nervous, exhausted and completely disillusioned. The house was in darkness. I got into bed and cried. Tea and pizza helped of course, and Snow Patrol, and sleep.

I love Saturday mornings now. I can't help it. I don't even miss my lie-in, I literally get straight up and out of bed and can hardly wait to get to rehearsals. I remember dreading those long hours of tortured orchestral discipline, but now it's so much better. I still hate Ms Warren, and her dress sense, and her constant patronising, but I love the cello. Perhaps I shall take grade eight at some point. Although maybe not next year, I'll be too busy working in Woolworths, chainsmoking, and fighting with my parents, the traditional gap year project for those with no academic aspirations whatsoever.

Anyway, did a concert on Saturday night, it went amazingly well. Chris somehow managed to do his Maths homework while conducting the youth choir and setting up the church. How does he do it? He's like a superhero, juggling a million different commitments at the same time, and still managing to be the most charismatic person I have ever met. People like that are incredible. Becky is the same: she works so hard, and goes out all the time, and still manages to be happy and confident and beautiful the whole time. Seriously, next to her I feel stupid and inadequate.

It's weird how people I have seen or heard from in years keep popping up on the scene. On Saturday Wendy randomly turned up to see Poppy perform, and gave me a lift home afterwards. Then on Sunday evening, when I went round to Beth's to drink Sangria and watch Edward Scissorhands (AWESOME movie) Matt was there, someone I went to America with three years ago and haven't seen since, and also who incidentally was taught by my mother years ago. He goes out with Chelsea now. Sweet. Then this evening I got home to find a letter from Donald, was totally delighted. He does Maths, Further Maths, History, Economics and Music now. Yet another person to make me feel completely inadequate. But he wrote me this amazing letter. ('Sad to hear of your demise'...'I have heard good things about the IB and dreadful things about Essex'...'I am on a train...there goes Leicester.') Incidentally his sister also studies the very same course I got rejected from at UCL (European Social and Political Studies). Damn her. Although I didn't have high expectations for that course, as there are only 30 places and 200 applicants per place, or something. There's always next year. On another day. In a different place.

Today was another completely unproductive day. Had the last ever French and Biology lessons of my entire life. Mr Browne gave us chocolate biscuits and wished us well. Madame Packer lectured us about French grammar.

Four more days.

I've been running every day for over a week now. I'm not sure if it's killing me or doing me the world of good.
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