Heavily featuring my right thumb
17.04.06, 8:09 pm

I have to report a war wound. Sunday I was peeling some carrots and succeeded in peeling my thumb. And I mean literally, there was a huge flap of skin coming off and everything. It was one of the most revolting sensations ever - about ten thousand times worse than grating your nail against the cheese grater or bending your nail backwards or whatever. Ugh, it�s making me cringe just thinking about it; I could feel the flesh getting peeled back. And it really hurt as well, and really bled� I kept trying to transfer my thumb from the tap to a plaster and giving up because I was getting blood everywhere. Okay I�m done whining about my wound, but it�s currently making texting a right pain in the arse because I have to use one thumb and one index finger. I even sent Becky a reply text telling her that fact.

Sunday wasn�t all bad though, as I went out on the bike with my dad for a ride up towards Warrington. He then decided to come back along the M62, which was interesting. There were huge crosswinds that completely kicked my ass, so I was gripping so hard with my knees that everything just hurt, and my chin strap was cutting into my neck and choking me, and I was sure we were suddenly going to go careening off and slam into the side of another car, and god I wouldn�t change any of it, it was bloody fantastic. Everything really aches today though, but it was a Fun Event nonetheless.

MY GOD. I�ve just loaded up Limewire, like this second, and one of the files waiting to finish downloading is titled, �Teensex � Very Young Girls Orgy Fucking By Teen Boys�. I miss living with girls. Ciaran�s just got back from rehearsal or something, and we�ve just had a very normal conversation, and the whole while I was thinking, �Yeahhh, you love the teen orgies�. I have too many inappropriate thoughts, and I�m so glad I�m not prone to Freudian slippage.

The thumb�s not loving this typing thing, as it keeps opening up and bleeding everywhere. I should probably go get a plaster or something, but I hate them because they make me feel really nesh. Plus my cat inevitably ends up trying to eat them.

So, tomorrow night I�ll be getting the Transpennine Express back to wunderbar Sheffield, with the stupid holdall bag of woe in tow. It actually is the crappest bag in existence as well; there is no comfy way of carrying it, and on the trip from Sheffield to here I was walking down the tram stop and managed to smash it into a huge metal sheet/fence thing whilst trying to change positions, causing two grannies in front of me to turn and give me a terrified look and then promptly run away. Or at least a kind of run-hobble granny hybrid thing. It probably didn�t help that I had a trickle of blood running down my wrist from when I�d just nicked it from packing my razor before. Wow, check the blood theme we have going on here, very Easter-themed.

Zoe�s just rang and we had a conversation featuring lesbian dungarees. She does rock lots, and I�ve now completely forgotten what I was going to write about next. I�m currently sat with my Zen thingy on, singing along to the songs, and I�m very aware of the fact that Ciaran�s going to come back from tea shopping any minute now and catch me. I do try to limit my being-a-nob moments to fewer than ten a day.

Oh, my dad just rang from some pub (he�s on his hot date, and has been since about 11 this morning). He�s totally drunk (�I�m strictly on a liquid diet!�) and it felt ever so slightly like he was slipping back to how he used to be when he and Bernie were together but we still lived in Notts and she was up in Manchester. My dad can (and usually is) very, very selfish, and during the two years of him and Bernie being apart (I was at 6th form) we had some truly horrendous arguments about it all. He resented having to be in Notts with me when all he wanted to do was go up to Manchester and be with Bernie, and so spent all of his free time up there, and during the week would spend entire evenings on the phone to her. The arguments ran along the lines of �I�m totally sacrificing my happiness just for you and you�re not even slightly grateful; I�m in love and that�s why I�m never at home. Just look after yourself� you�re 16, for god�s sake. I don�t know when I�m coming back from Manchester and I don�t care, just piss off�. This all climaxed in a really horrific argument one morning before 6th form, where we stood and shouted at each other downstairs for about twenty minutes, and he screamed, �You�re all against me, just stabbing me in the back, you don�t want me to be happy� and started crying. I said, �Just don�t� don�t pull that shit� and walked out the room. He didn�t speak to me for a week; I didn�t want him to anyway.

Sorry, I didn�t mean to write all that and I don�t really know where it came from. God, and now I�m worrying that it seems like it was me who was being all selfish and childish about the Bernie thing. It honestly wasn�t; my sister felt exactly the same way as me, except she was in France that year and so didn�t have it every day like I did. My relationship with my dad has always been strained at best, and because all that was so long ago, and then with Bernie dying, I kind�ve forgot how bad it all was, or at least gave him the benefit of the doubt and figured that it was me being unreasonable. It wasn�t though; I can look back now and see that it was that he always just put himself first. Huh, this has all suddenly gotten really serious and repressed bad memoriesish. Definitely time to sign off before we get carried away.

Also, I must apologise for the amount of times that I've mentioned my sodding thumb. You'd think I'd actually cut it off or something. I've definately lost a little of my hardcoreness now.

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