But you're killing everything in me
15.09.06, 5:09 pm

Before I get on with this potentially sombre entry (okay fine, I know already it�s going to be sombre, I was just trying to be optimistic), I�d like to report some news that I forgot to write about last entry. Me and my sister went to The Trafford Centre a couple of days ago (when the horrible ginseng tea was bought) and whilst walking round noticed that none other than The Hoff was due to do a book signing at WH Smiths. My sister was very excited. She had the ridiculous idea of us queuing for two hours to get his book signed, which prompted me to say, �We�re not queuing for hours, there�s no way I�m standing with that load of saddos� whilst pointing at a man in a blue fleece. Unfortunately I said it too loudly and Blue Fleece heard me, so we had to quickly scarper. But still, The Hoff in Manchester!

Okay, so on to recent events. Ugh, this is such a hard entry to write. Well, the most important thing is that I didn�t die. The hideous family meal didn�t kill me. That�s something. We got caught in a lot of traffic during the journey to New Mills and my dad flapped and panicked a lot. Not that it mattered at all, as the table wasn�t booked. We got there only ten minutes late, did all the introductions and small talk, and then headed off to the restaurant. After eating lots of curry we then went back to Ladyfriend�s, did the whole socialising thing and then finally headed home about eleven.

And it was okay. Her kids seem nice enough � the son�s quite shy and the daughter�s a typical 13 year-old. I was sat next to her at the meal actually, and had to resist the temptation to turn to her and say, �So, got ME too huh?� Because whilst I would find that quite amusing and nice to respond to, I don�t think she would have. And Ladyfriend seemed more comfortable in her own environment and we got on pretty well. My dad loves spending time with her and they seem to click fantastically.

Why does past stuff always have to reappear again? You think you�re over all that, you think you�ve left it behind, and then it just springs up again and smacks you right in the face. Doesn�t matter how long ago it was either, it�s still there, waiting for you. No less painful either, despite you thinking that you�d gotten over it. I wish there was a button in your head that you could just press when you wanted to stop remembering.

She's not her. Obviously I'm delighted that this grief has decided to resurface, and in the form of a 12 year-old's.

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