The bleached part of my hair is dryer than it was. It turned out better than I thought, though. I don't know why I want to be blonde so much. I don't know why I started this work.
Sixth form is all right, I suppose. I mean, I don't absolutely hate it the way I hate 'normal' school. Three attempts it took me to write normal. It's the most pretentious symbolism that's ever happened to me.
I've been gone a long time from here, I know. I dyed my hair. I went to America. One of my friends is becoming a Mormon. I started reading ASOIAF and hate myself for it. I'm still listening to Florence a lot.
I have had crushes before (remember the girl who found my purse?) , but barely, not like this one. I don't know how people cope. Especially if, well, there's a high chance you are their preferred gender. The thing with straight girls is they're joke about how they are practically married to the best friend but you tell them you actually like girls and suddenly you're an evil succubus.
I still haven't told my family. I know there isn't any benefit in lying but I just can't shake the feeling of being sinful and disgusting. And then how long will it be before my grandparents find out? They practically disowned my cousins for getting tattoos. Half my dad's family smokes and my grandparents don't know any of it.
Last night I was home alone so I had a bit of my parent's wine. It's embarassing to be 17 and have never gotten properly drunk. My sister was 12 the first time and when she was my age she probably had memorised all the local pubs that serve underage drinkers. I'm British, you see. It seems the US are really tough about alcohol but here no one cares. And I don't know how to explain a pub.
The wine tasted revolting.