I�ve been going a little crazy with the Greek yogurt and fruit for breakfast thing � it is delicious though � but when did fruit get so god damn expensive? It cost me �3 for a punnet of strawberries, �6 for a bag of cherries, �2 for a tiny punnet of raspberries and 35p for a bag of small apples. It�s all so wrong. Why can�t red berries be as cheap as apples? The bag of grapes somehow only came out at 7p, so I�m not complaining on that score. And no I didn�t just place one grape or something ridiculous on the scale, it�s not my feckin� fault it�s faulty. I do love self-service check outs though!

*grins*

When I was in one of my more inquisitive moods, I asked Grams what I was like as a baby (as you do), and she told me I was one of the sweetest and happiest babies she�d ever known; that I had a smile for everyone, and rarely made a fuss. I think that maybe she felt compelled to say that, being my Grandmother and all.

She said that when my Ma ran away to a Kibbutz in Israel when I was one, she was gone for months, but the minute she walked back through the door I was giggling and smiling, and just so god damn happy to have my Mom back.

She told me how I was scared of water because of the white spirit incident; but I already knew about that. She said I was smart; talking, walking and reading before they knew it. That they�d come in my room and find me asleep with a book on my face; but I already knew that too, Ma is fond of telling me that one.

Then she told me I spent years being scared of loud noises. That whenever someone banged on the door or dropped something, I�d jump out of my skin and my eyes would fill up with tears. Because my Dad used to scare the shit out of me with his ruckus, beating on my Mom when I was there to see it and not old enough to understand. And, somehow, I really wish she hadn�t told me that. Even if I don�t remember it. Just knowing is enough sometimes.

Woman needs to learn what to keep to herself and what to share. Like the time she told me my Dad held a gun to her so she�d hand me over, I mean really?! Did you have to go there?

And then it got me thinking about this time when my step dad came home, I must have been six or seven, �cause I don�t recall my brother being around just yet. And Ma had been out at a party or something, and come back real late. I don�t remember quite how it happened really, I remember her coming in to see me when she realised I was awake, and somehow I�d followed her out into the hall and I saw him grab her when she walked through their bedroom door, real tight around the wrist and start hissing vitriol at her.

And I was so god damn scared. He was freaking the shit out of me and I was crying and crying, and I think he realised he�d gone too far, but I was too scared at this point.

I slept on the floor that night, next to my Moms side of the bed, with my arm reaching up to her. Because she was my Ma and I didn�t want her going anywhere.

I think my Ma did alright with me until I was about eleven or so, there were some things she ignored that she really shouldn�t have, and I know that her little boy was her favourite for a long while. But she did okay in the end. Maybe she was just scared for herself. She sure had a hell of a way of picking her fellas. Aint that the truth.

I don�t know if I mentioned it before, �cause I do get a little bit side-tracked, but I lost my portfolio last week. I say lost��cause although I was pretty sure I knew where I�d left it, I had to wait until morning to verify. I�d popped in to Tescos and Waterstones with Jamie after my one to one with Amy, (she�d made us build them all up properly so I�d created a pretty front and contents page and organised all my work inside of it), and we were nattering on the bus on our way home for a little while, before I realised I didn�t have it with me.

It was pretty comical actually, the sudden head darts all over the place to figure out what I could have done with it, and I think J panicked far more than I did. But, as I thought, I�d left it by the self-service machines in Tescos; I must have put it down to run my purchases through the scanner and forgot to pick it back up again.

Anyway, the reason I brought this up is because pretty much everyone knows what I did, they all thought it was hilarious; �cause this girl, she don�t lose nothing! And Warren posted on my Facebook wall this weekend, asking if I�d managed to find it � guess I forgot to mention that I�d found it to them or something. So I wrote back on his wall letting him know I�d found in in Tescos, and who should decide to �like� the comment, but Tivi�.

And I mean... it�s got me a little confused �cause when I fall out with people, or I feel like they�ve done me some kind of injustice, I don�t go liking posts they put on other peoples walls. I just don�t. I sort of steer clear of them, half the time I pull them off my Facebook and phone so I don�t even have to think about it � but I refrained from doing it this time �cause I don�t want it to get funny at college.

Now I�m a little worried too, �cause what happens if she decides to apologise? I really don�t want her to apologise, �cause I�m starting to see that I�m some sort of big sucker for people being nice and sweet. God. If I was still angry or frustrated I�d feel okay, �cause I�m the ultimate bitch when I�m putting on my A game. But when I�ve moved past it? When I�ve let all the anger out and I�ve decided to move on from it � just like the anger management lessons taught me - I forgive anyone, and it�s starting to get absurd.

Jesus. I�m getting seriously annoyed with myself. How can I be so adamant and non-bending and evil incarnate one minute and sweet, forgiving Mary-Jane the next??

I thought i knew how to hold a grudge, and boy do I when that person hasn�t made it up to me, but why am I so willing to let them try? Why am I always finding some way to give everyone second chances, when it�s the last thing I want to do??

I know for a fact that if my Step Dad or Dad came and asked me for a second chance, I�d give them one � sure I�d be as suspicious as fuck, too much nasty history not to be � but I really would give them another go. And it makes me absolutely furious with myself.

J once called me heartless, and I remember laughing and agreeing with him. Shay looked up at us and shook her head and said �No, you really aren�t.� and I think I understand what she meant.

No matter how much of a bitch I am, how snarky I want to get and how easily I�ll agree with the nasty things you wanna say about me, shrug it off so you don�t see it hurts. I�m scared I�ve got this huge capacity to love and to care, despite anything I say to the contrary, and no one�s ever going to be able to fill it.

And right now I�m sick of looking up mental illnesses and convincing myself that I have one sort of mental disorder and then another, �cause everything about me contradicts itself. So I�m seriously going to ask the doctor (when I eventually get my appointment this week) to let me see a counsellor. He�ll do it, I�m pretty sure; it says on my recent record that I should be on anti-depressants, so I�m probably in for some sort of lecture as it is. Fuck the pills and give me someone to talk to, so I know I�m not insane.

Oh, and I know this is probably hard for some people to understand, but I fail to recognise that Valentine�s Day exists anymore...well not that it ceases to exist, more that it�s no longer different to any other day of February. Yeah sure, it�s nice to receive gifts and everything � I�m as materialistic as they come sometimes � but I don�t need them on this particular day specifically. I�ve thought long and hard about it, and it�s just one of those days that people become destined for disappointment when they expect something. So I expect nothing � and not in a bitter shrew kind of way � I just realise the insignificance of a lot of it.

Last year I remember the whole breathless feeling I got when Richard just kissed me out of the blue, �cause we�re all supposed to have a Valentine�s kiss apparently. But that led to one whole big mess of unrequited feelings and it wasn�t really fair. A lot of that stemmed from the whole Valentines romanticism thing.

I don�t need this commercialised day to know that I�m loved, if I�m loved at all. But I don�t fault the people out there that do, and that really enjoy it for what it is. Each to their own and all that jazz.

Now if, In years to come, I was absolutely head over heels for someone and they were to use this day to do something utterly romantic and heartfelt, that didn�t involve restaurants, roses, chocolates, the cinema or stuffed bears; then I�m pretty sure I�d be on top of the world. Especially if they did it because they wanted to, not because it�s expected. But roses definitely aren�t my favourite flower (that�s the Oriental Lily by the way); I seriously don�t need more chocolates; there�s not much romantic about a crowded restaurant or cinema and I�m not a big fan of teddy bears. I�m happy with my little owl, hedgehog and penguin; they don�t want any more friends.

And, considering I took this nonchalant approach to this supposed holiday, I think I had the happiest Valentine�s Day ever. I thought that saying it and feeling it might be two different things, and I was ready to test out my new found philosophy with that little seed of doubt � hoping it didn�t blossom. And I proved myself right � I didn�t feel bitter about other people�s gifts, I didn�t feel like it was being rubbed in my �single� face, and I got wished a Happy Valentine�s by more people than usual � maybe sensing I was really happy or something. Hell, even my brother rang me to say it.

I think that in realising the insignificance of something, we�re set apart from it; it�s the truest way to real freedom, if ever there was one in a society such as ours.

Ah. And on that note, I�m going to stop chewing myself out about my Uni course choices. Yes, I fully admit I�m scared shitless and I keep pretending I�m not. I�m letting the excitement cover the other feelings, hoping they�ll somehow dwindle when they don�t have the spot light. Which is idiotic and slightly pathetic.

I mean, I�m completely paranoid that my work isn�t good enough, and I push and push myself to some extents, when I really shouldn�t. The only pressure placed on me is the pressure I place on myself � I fully recognise that. Everyone wants to do well, and I seem to take that to the extreme sometimes. I don�t show people anything I write �cause I�m just so god damn scared it�s not as good as I think it is.

So what do I do? I decide to take Creative Writing as one of my majors. Where 50%+ is in work shops where other people take your writing to pieces and wait for you to build it back up again in another way, just so they can tear it apart again.

Idiotic girl.

And what else am I mortally afraid of? Talking out in front of people � specifically debating and presentations. And what does my other elected major consist of? Fucking Philosophy.

Which is something ridiculous like 80% debates. I know I�m going to get all tongue tied and hand over weak arguments �cause I�ll just be so god damn nervous.

But there�s gotta come a time when we all face up to our fears � and I suppose that�s what I might be doing. Unwittingly of course � I didn�t choose these thinking I could overcome them, I chose them because they represent everything I love and want to know more about. It just so happens that I want to build my future on my past, in a really nerve racking way.

But fuck it. I�ve never backed down from a challenge and I can blag my way through things like the best of �em. Let�s just see if I haven�t moved past this in three and a half years, when I�m ready to be unleashed on the world.

I�ve decided to try and build myself some sort of routine; up at 8am, coffee and Greek yogurt, write for an hour, read for half an hour, shower and dress, half an hour to take care of any nonsense I haven�t sorted (like bills, cleaning, packed lunch etc.) and then off to college to study � even if I will still be early most days! Of course, this won�t work for every day, and I may have to shunt it forward an hour or more on Thursdays and Fridays and forget about the half an hour to sort stuff out some days, but it�ll do for a start! And my gym time is my after college time � when I�ve finished with my day, but before I allow myself to relax and cook dinner and what not.

I�m probably going to battle with myself over this � I crave routine and organisation, and at the same time, I hate it. I�ve always rebelled against constraints, that much is obvious. And I�m always trying to break the mould, without even realising it. My cousin says, and unfortunately she�s not on her own, that if there�s a way to do it differently, I�ll find that way and make it my own.

I also take great pleasure in occasionally dressing like a delinquent and surprising people. Who knew the girl dressed like a ninja � all in black � with the crazy colourful hoody, XL high tops, lip ring and crazy afro curls could be such a sweetie. Mwahaha. Never judge a book by its cover baby, I should know.

My poor conservative Ma has never known what to do with me. Don�t get anything pierced you say? In walks thirteen year old Rachael with a stud in her nose. Please don�t get any tattoos! Oh, too late m�fraid. Do you really need to wear something that colourful? Away goes the blue t-shirt and out comes a bright rainbow one.

You�d think I do it on purpose, and sometimes I sort of do, but what�s the fun in doing what people want you to do? I always do what I want to do, and handle the consequences accordingly. If I like it, that�s good enough for me. *grins*