Sinister: Hey glumface, next time there's a rainbow, look up. You'll feel better...

[JENOWL22 at xxx.com]

Hewwo,

How's tricks?

Ribena is the ultimate. I love it so much. It's like alcohol only much much 
better cause it doesn't turn you into a psycho if you take too much too often.

I think I'm  learning what its like to be a posse girl. The good parts 
anyway. You know the parts where posse girls don't get beaten up and people 
are nice to them quite often. It's a good thing if you don't take it for 
granted. That's the problem. Posse girls take it for granted.

I'm still reeling from the news that some second year boys apparantly have a 
crush on me cause they said so. It's surreal. Last year the second years spat 
on me and threw stones at me, and now they don't. They just walk about behind 
me and look at me. It's unnerving but it beats getting globs of plegm out 
your hair.

School is odd. It's like somewhere, up in the sky, some fairy godmother or 
something flipped a switch and turned everything on its head. Everything is 
all sparkly and new and the world is not just a grate place, it's a grate 
place for me to live in. I even enjoy double maths on a friday.

 It's like a feeling I used to get, when I was small. I had this doll that 
was absolutely the most beautiful thing in the world, and her name was Julie. 
I'd got it for my birthday and she came with a pink frock, dolly shoes and a 
bunch of plastic flowers, and her hair was arranged in the most perfect 
ringlets which were all glossy and brown and she was perfect. And I hardly 
ever played with her, because I didn't need to, just looking over onto the 
chest of drawers where she sat, and knowing that such an amazing thing was 
mine, and I couldn't have been as crap as they all said at school because I 
was allowed to have this one thing that was sweller than anything, and I had 
this feeling that I had a place. I must have been pretty materialistic when I 
was 9 but I never did show any signs of becoming a communist, or a nun.

But that's what everything is like now, and when I think of how it is, 
although its quite ordinary, I get that feeling I used to get when I saw 
Julie sitting over on my chest of drawers with her plastic bunch of purple 
flowers.

Except for one day my friend asked if we could play with her, and I didn't 
want to, but I said yes anyway because she was a lot stronger than me. And 
she pulled off the little dolly shoes, because she said they were stupid, and 
got them lost. And she got smudges all over the frock and unpicked the 
embroidery. And she undid her hair and backcombed all the ringlets into a 
frizzy mess, because ringlets were uncool. And she pulled off one of her 
legs, in a way that it couldn't be fixed, because she said it was a stupid 
doll anyway and we should play with barbie and ken, except she'd ruined them 
as well, so we couldn't.

So after she'd left I cried, and I had a little funeral for Julie, and put 
her in a shoebox in the back of my wardrobe, and wished that everyone else 
wasn't stronger than me. 

So now when I get that feeling, of being untouchable, I keep thinking of that 
doll, and then I wait for that girl to show up and mess up all the ringlets 
and pull the legs off everything that's going right. Except she can't. No one 
can, because this time round I don't have to let anyone play if I don't want 
to because I don't get scared when people twist my arm up around my back any 
more. And it's swell. Even though that was quite a long story, that never 
really had a point except for my friend used to be a moke and now she isn't. 
She isn't my friend, I mean which some people are saying is part of the 
reason for my happy lack of bruises. 

You know the song stars of track and field? I like it. It reminds me of 
cappuchino and cordoroy and other indie snob things. Indie snobbery's grate. 
Don't knock it.

Hugs,
Jen
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