23/1/97

Jan231997

 

ON THIS DAY: The planets align as a perfect Hexagon.

 

Remember that letter I sent to SS? She got it in the register today. She recognised my handwriting. (See, I like smart girls like her…)

 

Loads of her friends (ES, that tall girl I can never remember the name of, and Spud I think and maybe RS) gathered round me on the front terrace at break and SS said, “Ay, did you write this?”

 

No,” I snapped.

 

How do you know what it is then?”

 

I don’t.”

 

It’s well pervy,” said one of her friends (KS).

 

No it’s not!” from me.

 

So you’re admitting?”

 

I sighed. “Alright, yeah. It’s not pervy, though.”

 

It is!” Don’t know who said that though. “Listen- ‘I’ve got the balls’. THAT’S pervy.”

 

I cringed.

 

If you think that’s pervy, you should see the one they sent me.”

 

Why, what did they write?” Asked KS, that girl a moment ago I couldn’t remember the name of.

 

Ask them, they wrote it.”

 

I can’t remember what happenned after that, but I couldn’t stop smirking in Biology and I didn’t dare look at SS or ES. I don’t think Spud was in.

 

Then they told me I should have printed it out. I had it in mind at the time but was too enthusiastic about getting it to her to spend more time producing it.

 

  1. When you spend a year sat next to
    someone, you learn to recognise their handwriting. Provided you
    don’t have learning difficulties. If you do, you might not realise
    that others will pick up on these things. Use a computer,
    regardless.

  2. Girls- and women- get away with
    saying whatever they want to men, because they are inferior. If they
    weren’t, when women say slutty things to men they would get the same
    treatment as when men do it to women. I learned this in 1997. (Well,
    I noticed it. It has never really sank in.) I got a fair bit of shit
    off people for writing that. SS and co got no shit for what they
    wrote to me.

  3. SS, KS, RS, Me, Spud, ES. Six people
    tied together by one stupid poem. Whilst a hexagon of planets
    aligned in the sky, a hexagon of stupidity formed between six
    angst-ridden and slightly weird teens. The planets, just like ours,
    keep on turning. In both instances, the formation is random and
    meaningless. It is by chance that the planets and the people on them
    engage in the way they do. It is not to be read into deeply. Do not
    let it matter to you what happens. The planets keep turning around
    the Goddamn sun. They don’t stop to dither in the past. Why the hell
    am I doing?

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