What Beth learnt today.

… that teen magazines which illustrate four wonderful ways to make somebody love you through the use of make-up are really not my thing, and that it’s time to eschew them with a firm hand. Or, until next time I miss a bus and want to pass the time. Ah, will power. Although it’s a failure when it comes to trashy, glossy literature, it’s doing the job when it comes to dragging me from bed to laptop after an accidental nap. It’s been one of those days where all I want to do is bake, and my mother’s in the kitchen. So, instead, I’m gazing thoughtless at the pint glass filled with daffodils on my desk, an adorable attempt to cheer me up on my Mum’s part in the wake of my exam results. English went well, but I actually paid 11 pounds and spent two weeks revising to do a History re-sit which I ultimately got less marks in than first time round. There’s nothing quite like realising you’ve wasted your time enormously to put you in a fabulous mood. But, never mind – pressure does wonders for my work ethic, it’ll all be fine.

The holiday to Malia is eventually booked! Regardless of the gender imbalance (I am entirely outmanned) it should be pretty wild. A week away will do me a world of good and, if last year is anything to go by, I will have a wonderful time with some… interesting people. Two of my best friends, a boy who I’m fairly certain is metamorphosing into a bear and another who appears to be a dental hygiene fetishist. Must admit, I hear fetishism and Macleans is not my first mental port of call. Perhaps that’s for the best!

I’ve been walking around like a zombie all afternoon… a zombie with particularly eccentric garb. You don’t see too many of them in AC/DC t-shirts and purple polka-dot bottoms. I would be far more open to the apocalypse if you did.

… that there’s nothing quite like that extra hour in bed, especially after you’ve stayed up til 2 watching ‘Takeshi’s Castle’ and eating slightly overcooked pizza with a few good friends. What’s even better is waking up at 7, hearing one of them leave for college, and realising you can go back to bed for a bit. I love it when my parents go away.

I’ve been neglecting this already sparse blog horribly due to an unexpected downturn in optimism. Getting rejected from my first choice of university, fighting with some of my friends and not getting a job I wanted because of my age didn’t exactly put me in the finest of moods and, let’s face it: nobody wants to read the self-pitying whines of a lower middle-class teen with very little to complain about. If you did, you’d be reading literature geared at thirteen year old girls, not this blog. However, I seem to have bounced back – particularly excited about the 3D ‘Where’s Wally?’ tournament I’m organising! Yes, you read it right – 3D ‘Where’s Wally?’. Quality.

Over the past few weeks I’ve made a few key realisations:

• I am probably doomed to a life of imperfect baking. My Victoria sponges just will not rise and, Delia wannabe that I am, this is driving me a bit mental.
• Just because I want something really badly, that doesn’t mean I can have it. I know at least half of my readership (since I’m pretty sure there’s only two of you) won’t approve, but I have faith that everything happens for a reason.
• MY HAIR IS REALLY LONG! This isn’t so much a realisation as a very proud moment from a girl who has continually sported a bob since the age of 8.

All very comforting considerations, although the last one is my particular favourite. I’m becoming quite excited by the prospect of living in Glasgow next year, not that I’ve ever been – I’m travelling up on Monday, simply couldn’t wait until the Open Day to have a look around. I’m yet to consider my plan for if I don’t like it there, since I absolutely detested the dismal urban maze that was Manchester, but I’m sure it’ll be fine. Fuck it – if all else fails, I’ll get a job, go travelling and re-apply elsewhere next year. Optimism. I’m not going to lie, my Edinburgh rejection was seriously uncool – my Mum suggested to I see if I can get a place there through clearing. In spite of the impossibility of that transpiring, screw them. Not to sound proud (okay, I am so proud), but I would rather go nowhere than to a place that didn’t want me in the first place.

Tonight should be a bit lovely. The girls are coming round for a curry and an artsy chick flick – two of my favourite things put together. My parents have been gone since Monday and I’ve been living on a diet of carbohydates soaked in pesto. It’s been pretty wild. This should be an interesting month; two trips to Scotland, my January exam results (eep!), about a million coursework deadlines, plenty of plans with some quality people and, of course, getting some of my very favourites back from University for the holidays. Everything’s going so quickly at the moment – I had my leaver’s photo taken last Monday, and the yearbook photos are being collected now. I’m pretty sure the leaver’s photo was a last-minute attempt to do away with all the short people, placing everyone in height order on a ridiculously high piece of scaffolding with the midgets on the top… myself included. The photo will literally just be me staring straight ahead in abject fear and horror. Which is kind of how I feel about the future right now.

Except I’m a little more excited.