Misadventures at the Shops

Yesterday was an incredible fail of epic proportions. I made two new friends, but that was literally the only good thing that happened.

You are aware, possibly, that yesterday I made my regular pilgrimage to the local skatepark (or more accurately, near the skatepark- my nor my friends ever actually go into it) and because my dad was staring work early, I had to take the bus like the responsible adult I will one day be forced to grow up to be. Besides waiting for the bus for quart or an hour, everything was fine, until I realised I was the only one on the bus, and the driver was this creepy old man. I really thought he might drive off to a deserted area and murder me in assorted creative ways.

That didn't happen. I arrived at the shops near the skatepark in one piece, but I was half an hour earlier and I was panicking like mad. I have both a crippling fear of social interaction and a crippling fear of being alone, and I knew fine well that none of my friends would be where we'd arranged to meet yet. I would be alone, and I would look like such an epic creeper. I didn't want to look like an epic creeper. So, no word of a lie, I went and spent three quid on a notebook and some pens to stall for time and actually look like I was doing something instead of just standing around like a saddo. My friends arrived literally five minutes after the purchase, so yeah. It was pointless.

One of my friends, Michel, had brought two of his friends that none of us knew, Laura and Ronan. Laura was pretty cool and I secretly hope she dates Michel some day because they'll be good together, and Ronan was gloriously gay and perverted and has a slightly unnerving obsession with Frank Iero. But one of my best friends has a slightly unnvering obsession with Gerard Way, so I'm used to dealing with that sort of thing.

The way went well until a far twelve year old chav who has a grudge against Michel decided to randomly, out of nowhere, run across the street, push him off his bike, and start beating him up- right outside of a police station, the idiot. There was much panic and the fat chav fled when three Responsible Adults restored my faith in humanity by stopping their cars to help Michel, and help us escort him to the police station. Because none of us intended to let the fat chav get away with hurting our friend for literally no reason except that, months ago, he'd stood up for one of his own friends when the fat chav was bullying them.

We ended up spending an hour in the police station getting things sorted out and making sure Michel was okay since he'd been kicked in the head (he was mostly fine, just a bit battered) and when my dad found out where I was he freaked out and almost locked me in my bedroom for the rest of my life to become some sort of weird middle-class Rapunzel. After a girl got killed in... Liverpool, I think it was, a few years ago for being a goth he has a paranoia that some one's going to jump me because of the way I dress, so this was a large fright for him.

So yeah. That was by far and away the most interesting day of half term.

And on a totally unrelated note my ex best friend is having a birthday party across the street and I can see all the balloons and streamers on her front door. She made no attempt to invite me. I'm not surprise and I genuinely don't care, since I've been finding her gradually more unbearable in the past three years.

ACTUALLY, WAIT

Before I depart on my groupie adventures (by the way I've only just started to realise how attractive skater girls are oh my God can a girl with a skateboard who knows how to use it date me please), I just wanted to point something out.
I'm not doing the Slenderblog thing anymore, even though I was planning to originally and therefore the first posts and about me hint at that sort of supernatural vein. But the nightmares and hallucination-esque things I talk about in the second post I made, ever? Those are real, I swear to God they are. I don't actually think there's anything supernatural about them, though, maybe just something severely wrong in my brain, some switch that didn't get flipped to 'sensible teenage almost-adult' and is stuck at 'little girl afraid of every single thing ever'.

To be honest, I'm still afraid of every single thing ever. I just try to hide it more now.
ALSO I CAN SEE YOUR UNDERWEAR FROM DOWN HERE. BAI NOW.

I Feel Like I'm Made of Cake

So I forgot this blog existed, but then I started reading Hyberbole and a Half and remembered it. I know I'll never be as funny as that (or have as good art, sadly) BUT I CAN TRY, RIGHT? No. Just random ramblings. Apologies.

So, confession time. This was originally going to be a Slenderblog- a blog claiming I'm being stalked by Slenderman. But I was going to try and be all cool and creative and original and make it not Slenderman after all, and blah. I think the early warning signs were in the first post.
I'm not going to do that anymore. I'm just going to kill any poor unfortunate souls who wander here with tales of my boring life. Like I do on Twitter already, but you have to deal with more than one hundred and forty characters of my shit.

So. It's half term. The first days were good- I went to sleep at midnight and crawled out of bed at noon. I enjoyed spending half of my life asleep.
I can't do that anymore.
Last night I found myself lying awake at half past four in the morning, staring at the ceiling. I looked pretty tired, I think. Inside, I was all BOUNCYRAINBOWSWIDEAWAKENEVERSLEEP. I couldn't, for the life of me, close my eyes and shut off my mind to get some sleep. Then I woke up this morning at 7:15, after I finally drifted off. So I got less than three hours sleep. The night before that, five at maximum. Before that, something similair.
The sleep deprivation doesn't even feel like dying anymore. It feels like rainbows. I think my hands are made of cake. My brain definitely is, I can't feel it anymore.

The only decent thing is that any purple circles under my eyes are going to be covered by my ridiculous panda-bear makeup anyway.

Anyway. I'm going to the skate park now to be a groupie and stare at the cute boys. I can't actually skate.