Unnerved by my hair
03.12.05, 1:13 am

Oh god, I'm here again already. One of these days I'm going to go a whole month without writing an entry, just to prove that I can. Until then, I shall continue to feed my insistent habit of loving-to-talk-about-myself.

I journeyed down to Nottingham this lunchtime, after noticing that the girl stood opposite me at the tram stop had jeans-leggings with turn-ups. I wanted to give her a hug and tell her that it was all going to be alright. My gran picked me up from the station, and spent the first fifteen minutes in the car moaning about how they're closing down all the roads in the city centre. Despite this intense boringness, I still managed to keep a smile on my face, because I was watching the River Trent out of the car window and thinking, "Yep, now I'm home". And because Notts always makes me feel a mixture of happiness, nostalgia and belonging, it brought about a wave of supreme cheesiness, and I found myself thinking, "Aww, and I really love my gran too. She may talk too much and bang on about really boring things for hours, but I do love her a lot".

Man, she really does talk too much too. Luckily over the past 20 years I have gotten quite good at the skill of passive listening, where I can go off on a thought trail and yet manage to fill in the required "Mmm"s and "Yes"s without listening to a word of what she's saying. It's really quite handy. My favourite response is still "Mmm maybe", because it's good for every single conversation gap ever. I really really am trying to be the Best Granddaughter Ever though. Went and saw Harry Potter for the second time tonight, and enjoyed it greatly, bar the kick in the face that I recieved for the second time around. Don't ask me why that particular death affects me so much, it just does. It's annoying.

Speaking of kicks in the face, coming to Notts has actually been the same double-edged sword that it always has been, thinking about it. I love seeing the familiar streets and places, and I love the sense of being back where I'm meant to be, but it's always tinged with a sadness: I don't live here anymore, I miss my friends a crazy amount because I only get to see them a few times a year, and I wish that life hadn't have changed so much and that we'd never moved away. Right now I find myself wishing that I could just go back to Hucknall and go see Lindz and her mum like I used to, go sit in their kitchen and drink tea and smoke cigarettes (okay I wouldn't now, but I did then) and talk about life in general. I can't though, as Lindz and I don't talk any more because she thinks I'm a shit friend. Maybe I am as well. I guess that's a good example of how much everything's changed.

Anyway, let's get away from the deep depressing talk and ramble on about something superficial, namely... I've had my hair cut. It's very short and very layered, and the layers like to kick out quite a lot. Well, it's not actually that short, although I can and did make a sort of mohawk in the shower with it (that one's for you, Zoe!) it just feels short because it was so long before. It is very lively though, and it unnerves me slightly. I get the feeling my straighteners are going to have to put in more work than the five minutes after the blow-dry that they're used to. I'm also hoping that the seven gazillion layers all CALM THE HELL DOWN at some point in the near future.

Apparently my crazy goth step-cousin Nancy (step daughter of uncle nobhead, Ian) has gone off the rails again. According to my gran, she's now moved into her own place, and has taken to stealing my uncle Ian's food, taking off with some of his things and ringing the police to say that he's been bullying her, along with demanding that Ian sell his house so that she gets the 1/4 that she's entitled to. The whole time my gran was telling me this, I found myself thinking, "Ian's a complete nob jockey. Ian's a complete nob jockey. Ian's a complete nob jockey." I was actually quite concerned that one of my "Mmm maybe"s would actually come out as "Ian's a complete nob jockey". I don't even want to imagine what my gran would say to that... in fact, I don't even want to imagine what my gran would say to hear me even say the phrase "nob jockey". She thinks the word "crap" is heinous. I did say "arse" accidently this afternoon and had to brace myself, but fortunately she didn't hear me. Bonus side of old people - tendency to be very deaf. I try to keep my language as impeccable as possible when I'm down here, but my gran still doesn't like the way that I talk because she talks like the Queen.

I'm going to go attempt to fall asleep now. Luckily the Camp Bed of Doom has turned into Camp Bed Mattress of Semi-Doom on Floor. I am optimistic that I shall get at least five hours of sleep before tomorrow morning arrives. I'm aiming to get back to Sheffield before the evening, as my stupid pile of work has gotten no smaller, and although I know I won't do any tomorrow night (hello, it's X Factor), it'll at least make me feel better to know that I'm in the same city as my pile of work. That makes no sense at all.

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