• I'm glad i worded some of AllChokedUp's thoughts the other day, it's good to know I'm not the only one in this kind of situation. I had a great time at Jazz and Lizzy's birthday 'do. We watched Camp Rock and I got goosebumps (ignorez-vousing the utter cheesiness) and we played party games and I forgot about all the teenage shittiness going on in my head. Sometimes I get really scared about growing up; I start wishing feverently that I could go back to being little and carefree and utterly, gloriously happy. The wish was temporarily granted on Friday night (: It's not permanent but hey, you can't have it all. Ice skating on Saturday was a major laugh too - I skated into Jazz's teeth (yeah, that's how short I am and how tall Jazz is) and have a bruise to show it. I fell asleep on the way home, and did a shitty crossword and bitched about Miley Cyrus and Kate Hudson with Nonie for the rest of it. Oh, the joys of Hello! magazine... (: It's Xavi's birthday on Friday. I spoke to him Friday night, but he didn't reply on Saturday when I asked if he was still in town as I caught the train back from Basingstoke. His loss. I would've gone up to field with him and got slightly pissed and had a fucking good afternoon - but, like is becoming increasingly usual, it didn't happen. It's his fault. Again. it's all been said once before. we messed around on your bedroom floor... I want to read the Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. And the Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky. My local library has neither. :/

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