Where Castles Are Made Of Sand, We'll Start To Dance.

The sky is pink and the grass is green and the flowers are purple. My nails need a new lick of violet paint over the scabby stains that I've been hiding from my form tutor all week under my sleeves. My hair needs cutting, and as much as I'd like a fringe, I know that it's just an on going circle of getting a fringe, getting bored of it, spending ages growing it out and finally getting another fringe. Silly Billy. I quite like how it is. It kind of nearly looks like if I was going for a kind of "skee-wiff" look. If that exists. I have a teeny sweeping fringe which kind of holds the big side of my hair down, with a load of matte-curl fly aways decorating the rest of my mid-arm length rich-brown hair. I need to sort out my make up bag, too. A load of foundation spilt in there and now it's no longer the kind of black, shiny, scrathcy stuff they use for the interior of makeup bags. It's just grey with a la peche stain. I don't even use frickin' foundation. Some chavs tried to get into a fight with me and my friends in becrec last weekend. That was... interesting. Lets just say that raised voices gives me hysterics. At times like these, it's best to walk away and get on the first bus you see. Even if it is the 54 to Woolwich. So, me and Holly in Woolwich. Well, there's something I'll never forget. Ooh, drama festival on Wednesday. Lets just say that I've successfully petrified my half of the year with my solo "Welcome to Stepford," cheesy smile and awkward stance I held for what felt like ten effing hours while I waited for Liane to exeat the thrust. And now ime grounded. I got off on some MEGA-TIME tantrum at my grandmama's house cos I called her Gran. She only accepts Grandmama. Yep, that's two effing mas. Grr.