Oh, dear.

I was planning to relax for the next fortnight, but judging by the ongoing assault on my ears, my neighbours have bought a drum kit.

Although, while I was home alone yesterday I took the opportunity to blast my iPod and sing along loudly, despite having a voice akin to that guy from ‘Hannibal’, yeah, you know the one. The new drum kit may just be an act of retaliation.

I’m off to listen to Dave Melillo’s ‘Knights of the Island Counters’, which is quickly climbing the ranks on my list of favourite songs.

Bye!

I have a hole in my face.

In hindsight, playing hockey with the boys was probably a bad call.

I ran for the puck. He ran for the puck.
I focused on the puck. He focused on the puck.
I missed the puck. He ran forward. With full force.
His head.
My jaw.
My falling down.

I didn’t mind, though. I was on the ground for a second, then I jumped back up to the game, vaguely wondering why my mouth tasted so funny.

“AHH! You’re bleeding!”
“No, it couldn’t be that bad.”
“NO SERIOUSLY. YOU’RE BLEEDING!”
“Oh. Would you look at that. I suppose you’re right.”

Our phys ed teacher worked out that the boy’s head mashed the skin underneath my bottom lip far enough into my face that my teeth ripped through the skin and made two perfect teeth-marks on the outside of my face.
Basically, I bit myself inside-out. Or something to that extent.
I’m not feeling especially wordy at the moment.
After cleaning up the blood, getting an ice pack to hold on my jaw and assuring everyone that it didn’t hurt one bit, I spent the period freaking out friends with statements like:
“Hey. Right now, I could probably lick you without opening my mouth.”

Naturally, this all took place during first period.
Second period was spent madly studying for an upcoming maths exam.
Periods three and four are, usually, my favourite of the day; double literature is brilliant.
Of course, today we had an exam and spent the double period writing an analytical piece on Orwell’s ‘1984′.
Fifth period, lunch, was a much needed break that I couldn’t enjoy because
a) There was a whole in my face and I was understandably nervous about my ability to eat solids and
b) I spent lunch with my group members for a history assignment; writing an Irish drinking song about the third battle of Ypres for an ill prepared formal presentation we have to make first thing next week.
Sixth period was science, where we just happened to have our first practical lesson in months.
Lighting a Bunsen burner is tricky business when you’ve got one hand holding a cloth to your freshly bleeding face.

I’m sorry if this was completely disgusting, but, I’ve put off more than a few people today anyway and I thought I may as well extend that courtesy to strangers online.

Stay safe.

Update.

I would like to mention that after nine months of struggle and backbreaking labor, after nights spent covered in blood, sweat and tears, after what felt like an eternity wherein time itself stood still, it’s finally happened. Today was the day I awaited with baited breath.

I finally received an ‘Outstanding’ mark for a Literature SAC.

I’ve spent all year putting a disproportionately greater segment of my academic focus on this one subject. It’s the only subject I’m taking this year that’ll count towards my final university ENTER score, and it’s one of the few subjects I genuinely enjoy.

Unfortunately, despite nights spent revising and planning, I’ve never quite managed to reach the ‘Outstanding’ mark on any SAC, though friends in the class with a greater level of literary prowess repeatedly achieved the grade with ease.

That situation was remedied today, with what my teacher described as a piece which “demonstrated a deep understanding of Orwellian beliefs; rich with symbolism and literary techniques”.

I think I have this blog, in part, to thank for the progress I’ve made with writing over the year.

All in all, I’m a happy camper.

Auf wiedersehen, good night!

Story 2: Francis.

Francis stepped out of the shower cautiously, reached for his favourite yellow towel, dried himself off and went to stand before his foggy bathroom mirror. He examined his face closely. He couldn’t help but feel insecure as he noticed, for the umpteenth time, his many imperfections; the crooked nose, the unruly eyebrows, the receding hairline. He had to mask it all. He had to look perfect for tonight.

The idea of a school reunion was daunting, and Francis couldn’t believe how quickly the event had sneaked up on him. He was not the most popular student in his time, and as such, chose not to keep in contact with his peers. Still, he couldn’t help but agree to attend when he was informed of the event. He wanted to see what all the old faces had grown up to become.

Clad in polished shoes, a blue tie and a nicer suit than he could afford, Francis got into the piece of scrap-metal he called a car and drove to the hall.

Upon entering, the first things he noticed were the hideous decorations; balloons and streamers that would’ve been more at home at a twelve-year-old girl’s birthday party. However, this initial sensory shock was quickly overshadowed by the people who approached him.

The quiet girl who scribbled into desks at the back of chemistry class had grown up to become a graphic designer.
The nerd who was given a hard time for his studiousness was now a partner at an impressive law firm.
The outspoken athlete who regularly flushed Francis’s head in a toilet had chosen to follow the path of priesthood.

While reaching for the punch, Francis encountered a woman named Samantha whom he couldn’t recognize. He spent most of his afternoon with her, and discovered so many similarities between them that he felt she was a kindred spirit. He couldn’t believe he didn’t know her when they were both students.

After the event, he took her back to his apartment. He poured her a drink, and she confessed to him that she had liked him since they were kids. She’d been hoping to run into him tonight. Francis, afraid to offend the beautiful woman, pretended that he recognised her as well. He told her that he was really glad to hear she felt that way.

The next morning, Samantha left his apartment and promised to call him later that day. Francis, with a smile, dug out his old school yearbook and poured over the pages, trying to remember this amazing girl.

Soon enough, the smile was wiped off his face when it dawned on him that he did, in fact, remember her from his childhood.

Only, her name had been ‘Samuel’ back then.

—-
I just feel strangely motivated to write these days.