Susie is putting down her pen and closing her booklet

If there are two things I don’t like in a blog, they’re infrequent posting, and dull posts when they do finally come around. If there are two things I would say to describe my blog, they would be very much the same. It’s more than a month since I last wrote something here, and that wasn’t even worth reading; unfortunately frequent interesting posts rely somewhat on me frequently having something interesting to say.

The last month has sped by in a bit of a blur actually. Not a particularly enjoyable blur; teachers getting stressed and trying to pressurise us into being stressed as well, all culminating towards the exams which, fortunately, finished today. Sometimes I wish I took these things more seriously, rather than relying on luck and whatever natural intelligence I have to scrape me through. In the past it seems to have worked a treat and I don’t think that’s a good thing. By the time I’ve crammed as much as I can and looked over some papers, I tend to feel like there’s nothing more I can do or know; today I realised that actually there probably is – genuine, early revision. It’s a concept somewhat lost on me, I doubt I’ll ever really pick it up.

Even more unfortunately, this horrible mess of work, coursework (for some) and impending exams has completely ruled out any possibility of spending any real time with my friends. I’ve barely been to Ally’s house, which is usually my second home, and time that I usually love at school, during frees and lunch has all been overshadowed by that horrible feeling that we should all be somewhere else doing something more constructive.

Susie is aware that this month was nowhere near as bad as it will get, but is so relieved that it’s all over, at least for now.

Susie is contemplating blogging.

A few of my friends have blogs. It’s nice. But I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t always read them as well as I wish people would read mine. Granted, sometimes I will honestly and thoughtfully read them and comment or talk to them about it later; but more often than not, I find myself just skimming through them. And just five minutes ago I started wondering what it is that I actually skim read for. Do I look for something that involves me? For my name to come up? Am I looking for some piece of gossip that I can spread or bitch to someone about? Am I looking for suffering? And if so, am I looking so that I might help them, or judge them, or simply relish for the moment that I’m not suffering the same? Am I looking for them to reveal some secret that I’ve always wanted to know about them? Unfortunately, I have a feeling the answer is all of these things. And I’m not sure I’m alright with that.

A non-blogging friend of mine asked me recently why I do it. I said that it was a place to organise thoughts and moan and that ultimately, I find writing soothing in many ways. She said that she could never put all her personal feelings down somewhere that everyone could read it, and I explained that I was more comfortable putting it somewhere public, where people could come and go as they please, than telling someone one-to-one; which ultimately I think just puts on pressure to say something worthwhile.

The thing is, I don’t think I treat my friends’ blogs as I should. Rather than outlets for ‘all their personal feelings’, I spend half my time treating them like some assigned text that I have to get through, and the other half like some trashy gossip magazine. I’m not saying they’re masterpieces or anything, but none the less I reckon I should be taking them more seriously. I sort of wish I had the commitment and compassion to read them as I suppose I hope people read mine, occasionally.

Susie is aware that it is Christmas eve eve and this blog entry has only now mentioned the word once. Susie is assuring readers that she is very very excited about Christmas this year (2 times), and will probably write about it another time. If it is not before the day itself, have some tidings of comfort and joy on her.

Susie is in 'full time' education

I’ve been sent out of my morning biology lesson, not because I did anything interesting or rebellious to annoy the teacher, but because I pulled a sicky on Monday and missed the test. I don’t have time to do it now because I have to have a needle jabbed in my arm in twenty minutes, and clearly sticking around in the lesson when everyone is going over the test answers would give me somewhat of an advantage. The arrangement was working pretty well for me until I realised no one else had a free this period and now I’m sitting quite alone in the kitchen.

Fortunately, some genius has found a way to bypass the school safety nets, so I can actually get on blogspot and make some, albeit rather frivolous, use of my time.

Susie is moving on to something almost serious for once.

I’ve been thinking recently about families, about how people get along with their families, love them, appreciate them, all that jazz. And I wonder if I do, or ever will feel the same about my family. Granted, there is nothing wrong with my family; they’re good people and my life at home is probably above average. And I love them in that family way that no one can ever really get rid of, even if they want to. But whether I like them or not is a different matter. It sounds pathetic and teenager-y to say that we bicker all the time and it annoys me, but it’s true. Somehow I can’t seem to say a single thing without my dad arguing with it, or my brother butting in with some mocking comment because he thinks he knows me better than I do, or my mum laughing at me and telling me about how much harder her life is.

It’s mundane and stereotypical to argue with your family, and I imagine that all I’m going to hear in response to this post is that I should be grateful for what I have and stop complaining because it’s normal and people go through much worse. But ultimately, I have a right to be unhappy with this. It makes me tense and stressed when I shouldn’t be and it makes me feel guilty every time someone shows that they like their family, because it just reminds me that I really don’t.

Susie is still stunned at her brother calling her a cunt this morning for turning his light on. Even she thought he had more class than that.