How does Elise possibly have time to write her journal while she's in Cambridge?? How does anyone have time to do anything like this in Cambridge?! oh my god, I've never been so busy, inspired, challenged and even happy in my life!!!
I'm home now for the weekend - well, actually going to Paris for a family wedding. All is well. I've finished my German essay. I have new and wonderful friends. I have apple pie flavour cookies to eat. I love Max. He loves me.
Better go, too much to do even here...
I can't wait til tonight!
Last night we taught Saul how to waltz in preparation for the ball, which was surprisingly successful. After mastering the basic steps he danced with Max while Mum played things like "I vow to thee my country" on the piano, because real waltzes are so much too fast (!), and then he danced with me while Max played the Blue Danube of Death, less than half the speed it's meant to go and with the left hand doubled at the octave, complete with glissandos up and down the piano...Then Mum played faster waltzes while I danced with Max, and when it got too fast he just picked me up and whirled me round the room in my huge silk ball skirt, and we danced like that...
Saul looked absolutely gorgeous in white tie. I can't wait to see what Max looks like.
Why do some people feel the need to be gratuitously vindictive? Without any provocation, suddenly to turn pointlessly, needlessly, pettily spiteful and bitchy? Do they get some kind of kick out of it? Do they need a quick fix of bullying someone else now and then to beef up their ego? Is it like some kind of sport, or something?
Perhaps it would be easier to understand if there was anything - any tiny little thing - that could be construed as provocation for this person to behave in this way towards me. But when I haven't even communicated with them for over a month? and the last time we spoke it was in friendship? It's incomprehensible to me.
Maybe Gothslut would understand it... she claims that she does it, at least. Maybe she can enlighten me.
Oh, well, it's hardly worth puzzling over. I'm making new friends, I now know exactly who my old ones are (!), I have a wonderful boyfriend, I'm about to go to Cambridge...and I'm the Roedean Musician of the Year!!!
Not that I can say I've missed you terribly...
I've suddenly started playing the piano again. I mean not just bashing out stuff with my mediocre ear - actually making the effort to read music, and finding out that I can actually play the accompaniments to very many songs and am not *too* far away from being able to play nearly everything that I want to be able to play. I can play "Fear no more the heat o' the sun"! It's so wonderful! My brain is actually doing it, actually reading the music and transporting the information to my fingers. God knows why I never learned the piano properly before. But hey, no time like the present!
I'd like to write more, like about how lovely it is to be able to garble on about the psychology of the text of the Christmas Oratorio to someone who actually knows what I mean and is interested in what I'm saying (among other pleasures.) But I'm too tired and I'm wading through a sea of music on my living room floor, Faure, Brahms, Finzi, Delius, you name it, I've been trying to play it! And with a surprising degree of success and a corresponding amount of happiness.
Home, that is, after what feels like about a month out of reality but has in fact been only about two or three days/nights during which I have not got very much sleep, and besides we worked out last night that we've only actually been going out for 9 days.
Nine days?! My god, it's unbelievable. I'm not *in* love with him. "In love" there taken to mean rush of chemicals to the brain, drug-like addiction to a person lasting 6 months to 2 years during which you convince yourself that the person you are with is all you could ever want and need and bla bla whatever it was that Stendahl wrote.
No, I am not in love with him. And promise here and now that I will never say the words "I love you", as Jeanette Winterson so perfectly put it, as if I were dropping them into a wishing well in the hope that they would make me come true. The way I feel is much more a case of Alanis Morissette's "don't be surprised if I love you for all that you are". I still wouldn't say it to him, purely because those words are and have been "too often profaned for me to profane it", thank you Mr Shelley. God I'm going mad quoting literature today. Must be his influence.
No, formulaic cliches are an insult to love. I will say it with my hands.
Right, please will someone listen to this and tell me am I obsessed, am I in love, or am I just completely mad?
I have a computer at home from which I can access the internet no problem and for no charge. Instead of being there I have just paid 2 pounds to check my e-mail in an internet cafe in Oxford Street, having just been out to a play with two friends. The reason I did that is to see if Max had e-mailed me to say whether I could come to his house tonight. The thing is, earlier today I had the brainwave that I could go to his house and tell my Mum that I was staying with the friends (Maria and John) with whom I went to the play. That way I would spare myself the embarrassment of telling my mother that I actually intended to - oh god, you know what, I am so tired I am actually about to drop dead, I'm too tired even to try to explain this. I'm really not sleeping well since he's been around...! Every morning I wake up at around four and can't get back to sleep. I pray I get some sleep tonight. I'm going to see Frances tomorrow in Brighton, should be fun. God, I'm tired. I have to wait for Maria and John to get off the internet. Why did I come here at all, why didn't I just stay at home and be available to contact...
I'm tired. I'm happy. I hope the window cleaner considers himself privileged for what he saw when his head appeared outside my bedroom window this afternoon!
I wish that for just one night I could make parents and siblings extinct as a species.
I don't really have much else to say...
I haven't written in here for AGES. And I feel like a real nob because I was so, SO sure I'd had it with being friends with Em, and then whaddayaknow - practically 5 minutes later, I love her to bits again. After all that bitchy shit I wrote, too. I feel a right idiot. I don't want to be the kind of insincere Tara P-T style git who changes their mind every 5 minutes and makes out each mind-change is the absolute and radical final one. But I'm glad she's added me to her friends list, though.
Well, lots to report on. Just got back from Greece and got my breakdown for my A-levels, which really was quite pleasing. There are 6 papers in German and French, and in German I got 100% in four of them, in French in three. My overall mark for German was 406 out of 410, for French 398 out of 410. Annoyingly there's no breakdown for music. Never mind - Cambridge here I come!!!!!
I'm still not happy, though. There is one thing in this world which can make me happy, and that is getting into the choir at Clare.
I was dreaming in Greece about the places I'd hodl choir practices if I had my own choir...We went into an amazing water cave which was off the coast of one island, and it had the most wonderful echo...how Iustorum Animae would sound in there...*shivers*
Intensive in every sense. Friendships broken, adoration rekindled, music music music everywhere!!!
Ralph Allwood is surely the sexiest man alive.
Iustorum animae in manu Dei sunt, et non tanget illos tormentum mortis. Visi sunt oculis insipientium mori; illi autem sunt in pace.
The music by William Byrd...so beautiful.
I feel inspired, frustrated, sad, alone, excited, thankful and happy all at the same time.