It feels so strange to be doing this again. To be getting into a relationship, to be staring down at my phone going...should I call? Should I leave it? Will he be busy? But I love it. I've been so scared, so afraid, for so long...yet maybe what I've been praying for, been yearning for, has been in my phone book for a month. Who knows? But I'm not letting accusations of desperation deter me - after all, I refuse to believe that giving someone who asked for my phone number and made me smile is desperation. I don't believe that reading a text he sent me is desperation. And I don't believe that you're worried about me at all - I think it's something else. Just because you've been hurt, doesn't mean I will be. Just because I got in too deep with one guy, doesn't mean that I will do it again. So yeah. This probably doesn't make a lot of sense to a lot of people. But, for me, I think friendship is about supporting one another. It's about saying...look, I don't think you should do this, this is why, but it's your life - I'll be there if you fall, no matter what. That's what I love about my friendship with Sandra. I remember telling her something, and she said 'Well, this isn't what you want to hear, but this is what I think...' And she wasn't tearing me down - she was actually being honest in a non-judgemental sort of way, and I respected that. Sure, it took me a week to reply to her email because I was a little pissed off, but she understood that, and I gave her my opinion, and we got on with our lives. I can take advice, but I have to make my own mistakes.

I still don't believe I'm desperate. Desperate would be going up to a guy and batting my eyelashes and giving him a nice view of my chest. Talking to a guy who talks to you is not desperation, and exchanging numbers to talk again is not desperation.

Why are we as women so determined to tear one another down? I know I do it, I know my friends do it to me, I've seen it happen. And it's so freaking pointless. Why can't we just be there for one another? I was talking to a friend on Thursday, as we happened to both be going into the city, and she said something about the so-called "plastic" or "bitchy" group at our school - they backed each other up. There was no undercurrents of resentment - it was all out in the open. I know my group at school is nothing like that. We're divided into two, maybe even three, distinct groups, and it's awful. I love these girls, but hell, we have issues. And because we've all graduated, they're never going to be sorted out, purely because they're not going to be brought up, and that kills me. They'll just lay dormant, and these will be the reasons why, within a year, we won't be in contact. Not all of us, anyway. I don't believe in having regrets, but I wish I had have spoken my mind more, put girls in their place when they deserved it, and not allowed the bitchiness to happen. maybe we should have just confronted it instead of bitching about it afterwards. Instead of exchanging awkward glances and ranting in the common room. Maybe our foundations would have been stronger if that had have happened.

And there'll be people that read this and interpret as a direct aim against them. Sigh. Surprisingly enough, it's not. It's a general thing, and I don't think that I'm the only one that feels this way. There are good memories, but the bad memories force you to reconsider what they mean and what the motivation for all the happy times was. I know I haven't been honest this year, and probably a little too caught up in my own affairs to be the friend that I should have been, but I'm not taking all the blame this time. I think that the majority of us within the group as a whole have contributed to this, and I think, when we fall out of contact, none of us deserve to ask why.

Wow. How did I get onto that topic?

God Bless.

lovelove, Jess xxxx

"Crying scares me because it screams the truth"
Pink, Sober

What matters more than practice
is the fact that you, my audience,
are pulling for me, want me to pull
it off -- this next sleight. Now
you see it. Something more than
whether I succeed's at stake.

This talk is called patter. This
is misdirection -- how my left
hand shows you nothing's in it.
Nothing is. I count on your mistake
of caring. In my right hand your
undoing blooms like cancer.

But I've shown you that already --
empty. Most tricks are done
before you think they've started -- you
who value space more than time.
The balls, the cards, the coins -- they go
into the past, not into my pocket.

If I give you anything, be sure
it's not important. What I keep
keeps me alive -- a truth on which
your interest hinges. We are like
lovers, if you will. Sometimes even
if you don't will. Now you don't.

"Magician", Gary Miranda

Damn, I'm glad they didn't put that last verse on the exam. Would have totally ruined my paragraph about "Now you see it." Besides, it's pretty difficult - the first three stanzas are good, the last one is killer. And it ruins the flow - gives the poem a nice structure, but it doesn't seem to fit right.

But English is over - one week and I'm free. More importantly, I've managed to survive this week without dying. Admittedly, talking to Sandra last night helped quite a bit - I sound stressed out. Hard to believe, right? Me, stressed?

Went to QVM after my English exam, bought a new dress, which was awesome, and thought a little too much - and made a very hard decision on the train back. Now, only another twenty-seven thousand hard decisions and I should be set.

I really have to stop doing the Gatsby thing and delaying happiness.

I'm going to miss English next year - maybe I can still do a PhD on Nick Carraway's sexuality. Anyone want to see The Curious Case of Benjamin Button with me during the hols? It's based on a book by my man Fitz to the gerald lah! And it has Brad Pitt in it...okay, that's not an incentive. It's like, a...discentive? But yeah. Come!

I am so going to have a lonely ass summer.

And I highly dislike teh fact Elena's boobs look bigger than mine in that pic. As if. As if!

God Bless.

lovelove, Jess xxxx

No more chem until next year. You have no idea how how how how happy I am. Metaphorical or literal. Or both. I think it's both.

And now I'm going to go call my beloved and make sure that she's alright.

Yes, I am a Wasian loser.

God Bless.

lovelove, Jess xxxx

And this is the end of math and history for me. I don't even know what to say - math is still one my favourite things in the world, I find it fascinating, amazing, and I will prove that you CAN divide by zero one day. Watch me.

History...I'm going to miss you, Stalin baby.

I would write more, but I should be studying chem. Psht. I am so over practice exams and studying. If I don't know it now, let's face it - I probably never will.

But I will get a seven in chem. I don't care if I fail everything else [okay, yeah, I kind of do, and I'm pretty sure that I may throw myself off a cliff if I get below 41, but...that's beside the point.] I can do chem. I know I can. So why does it sound like I'm trying to convince myself? Psht. Probably because I am. Okay, I am officially a retarded loserface. Who wants new Josh Pyke songs. Mm. Maybe I can download his videos and put them on my iPod. For inspirational purposes, of course....okay, Jess really needs to study.

However, the photos haven't uploaded yet, so I'm going to ramble until they do. And maybe go and read The Crucible since I know a total of one quote from it. "The crazy children are jangling the keys to the kingdom." Oh, oh! And "I kept a cold house." Stupid Elizabeth. If I were her, John's ass would have been out on the street faster than you could say...something really fast. Seriously, what is Miller playing at? Why is religion criticised? It is the only thing that stops Elizabeth from throwing out that cheating scumbag. And we don't kno wthat it's Abigail's fault...if I were her, I would have done the same thing. Okay, so I would have stopped at "John, touch me again! I knew you..." and not done the whole trail thing, but can you blame her? I'm sick of people pinning the whole thing on her - yeah, she's not well in the head. But with a past like hers, it makes sense. If your parents are murdered and you're kept as a servant at seventeen in a oppressive society, the line between love and lust will be a little blurred. It's not like she's felt love before...and Proctor offered her a form of that.

The photos are uploaded and Jess must stop getting emotionally involved with fictional characters.

God Bless.

lovelove, Jess xxxx

"Hi, I found your number in the paper...it said you were looking for a compassionate lover..."

If you are responsible for this, you are so so so so so so dead. Totally not funny. As if some drunk guy at a pub calls me at 9.45 on a Saturday night...sigh. Why do I attract the psycho, screwed up sort of guys? The god of romance hates me. Curses on you, fate!

God Bless.

lovelove, Jess xxxx

PS. I am so screwed for this week. So so so so so so so so so screwed lah.