You know, every once in a while, someones got something very interesting to say. I want to hear more, and find out every detail. I want to listen and know.
And then sometimes there are interesting things that should never be spoken of. Ever. To anyone. And I know this, because I was the receiver of such news. It's not entirely pleasant. I'd be much happier if I didn't know. In fact, two days later, and I'm still incredibly unsettled.
Hearing it was like a horror movie. You want to watch, and find out what happens next. Yet at the same time, you want to shut your eyes and run away and never put that damn disc in the DVD player again! It's horrifying and revolting and suddenly, nothing is as it was before, because now you're just scarred for all eternity.
I tried not to let the person know I was so sickened and horrified. 1.) That would be rather rude, and I try to be as polite and courteous as possible at all times. 2.) I assure the person I would be 100% willing to listen, and not judge. And 3.) I was still a little curious, I must admit.
It wasn't one of those things that you just need to tell someone. It wasn't completely vital that I be told. But then again, I didn't really block my ears and shut my eyes, and drown the person out with the good old 'la la la la laa!'. I listen, and tried to hide my disgust and disbelief behind slightly glazed over eyes. I think some people should just write this type of stuff down in a diary and set it on fire. Just let it burn. And then never speak of it again. That's what diaries are for.
Try as I might, I'll never look at that person the same way again. I just can't. I don't dislike them. I have absolutely nothing against them. They will still be my friend, and I love them just as I did before, only with a little extra knowledge that still unsettles me.
I would share with you, this surprising, horrifying, disgusting story, but I have been sworn to secrecy and I am a strong believer that pinkie promises are not to be broken.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
A Slightly Belated Blog.
Bloggers! I apologize for my lack of time and motivation. Well, not so much my lack of time, because that's really not my fault. But motivation, yes, I admit that was me.
I had so much to say to you in August it seems, and so little in September, which really isn't true.
I had lots to say. And yet so little time.
I conjured up the wonderful idea of a surprise present for my best friend's birthday, although that went terribly wrong.
In the end, I was forced to settle with decorating a cold chocolate chip muffin with sprinkles and those little shiny edible cake decorating balls that I never remember the name of. I stuck a candle and two sparklers in it, and drove it to her house.
She opened the door before I even got out of the car, so I yelled at her to go back inside and shut the door. Awkward.
When I got to her door, I struggled with the lighter (oh, the disadvantages of the non-smoker!) and managed, finally, to light one sparkler. My attempt to light the second one failed, almost, but by the time I had it going, the first one burnt out.
So when she finally opened the door, I had one measly candle, and a halfway burnt out sparkler. Fantastic.
So that was my failed birthday surprise. I don't think she was surprised. Just a little confused. She looked at the muffin like it might have been a dangerous explosive, and warily began to eat it about an hour later, when it was colder and even crappier looking.
I also got myself a new piercing in September. The top of my ear, with a little diamante' stud. It's cute, and a little bit punky. I do like it, but after almost two weeks, it continues to prevent me from sleeping on my right side.
I had it pierced at the biker shop at a local town. The Harley Davidson merchandise and intimidating shop persons was slightly off-putting, but the gentleman with colourfully tattooed arms was rather friendly. After less than five minutes, I walked out with a lovely new piercing to join the other one on my right ear. My left ear is getting rather lonely.
And just to finish off my complete transformation, I grew some courage, and braced myself as I sat in the hairdresser's chair and finally got my androgynous Agynes Deyn 'do.
Yes, you read right, I cut all my hair off. Now I look like Agynes Deyn, mixed with a little bit of Twiggy.
It's not that bad. Alright, I'll admit, I almost cried. But I like it now. Its manageable, and fun and versatile.
I haven't heard anyone say they hate it. In fact, most people really like it. A lot. I got some strange looks from a few girls and boys at school, but if they don't like it, I'll gladly tell them where to stick their negative opinions. Well, maybe I won't, but I'll certainly want to. I have the courage to be different, so hurrah. *Raspberry*
Oh, and I sewed myself three little handbags. They're out of scrap denim and one is out of scrap floral fabric. They wont hold much, but they'll hold your essentials. They're very cute, and a little bit quirky. I want to sell them, but they need linings and straps first of all. My best friend already has dibs on the fringed one.
Apologies again. I promise to write more often this month.
I had so much to say to you in August it seems, and so little in September, which really isn't true.
I had lots to say. And yet so little time.
I conjured up the wonderful idea of a surprise present for my best friend's birthday, although that went terribly wrong.
In the end, I was forced to settle with decorating a cold chocolate chip muffin with sprinkles and those little shiny edible cake decorating balls that I never remember the name of. I stuck a candle and two sparklers in it, and drove it to her house.
She opened the door before I even got out of the car, so I yelled at her to go back inside and shut the door. Awkward.
When I got to her door, I struggled with the lighter (oh, the disadvantages of the non-smoker!) and managed, finally, to light one sparkler. My attempt to light the second one failed, almost, but by the time I had it going, the first one burnt out.
So when she finally opened the door, I had one measly candle, and a halfway burnt out sparkler. Fantastic.
So that was my failed birthday surprise. I don't think she was surprised. Just a little confused. She looked at the muffin like it might have been a dangerous explosive, and warily began to eat it about an hour later, when it was colder and even crappier looking.
I also got myself a new piercing in September. The top of my ear, with a little diamante' stud. It's cute, and a little bit punky. I do like it, but after almost two weeks, it continues to prevent me from sleeping on my right side.
I had it pierced at the biker shop at a local town. The Harley Davidson merchandise and intimidating shop persons was slightly off-putting, but the gentleman with colourfully tattooed arms was rather friendly. After less than five minutes, I walked out with a lovely new piercing to join the other one on my right ear. My left ear is getting rather lonely.
And just to finish off my complete transformation, I grew some courage, and braced myself as I sat in the hairdresser's chair and finally got my androgynous Agynes Deyn 'do.
Yes, you read right, I cut all my hair off. Now I look like Agynes Deyn, mixed with a little bit of Twiggy.
It's not that bad. Alright, I'll admit, I almost cried. But I like it now. Its manageable, and fun and versatile.
I haven't heard anyone say they hate it. In fact, most people really like it. A lot. I got some strange looks from a few girls and boys at school, but if they don't like it, I'll gladly tell them where to stick their negative opinions. Well, maybe I won't, but I'll certainly want to. I have the courage to be different, so hurrah. *Raspberry*
Oh, and I sewed myself three little handbags. They're out of scrap denim and one is out of scrap floral fabric. They wont hold much, but they'll hold your essentials. They're very cute, and a little bit quirky. I want to sell them, but they need linings and straps first of all. My best friend already has dibs on the fringed one.
Apologies again. I promise to write more often this month.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
The Rest Is Still Un-Written.
I think the most beautiful thing about this life, is that everyone has a dream. And one of the most horrible things, is when people make you doubt your dream. That's not nice, is it?
So I feel so blessed that people not only support my dream- they fuel me towards it. It's like a big, heaving push on the swings at the park, that sends you high into the sky like a bird.
Last week, I began writing a new chapter for the war novel 'The Boy In The Striped Pyjamas'. We were given six options, and one of them required us to write another chapter of the novel. Of-course, knowing me, I wrote three chapters, not one.
I decided to add in a shocking twist, and plenty of raw emotion, etc. I spent hours on it, and by Thursday night, I had hand-written nine pages of my three alternative chapters to the book. I didn't think it was that great, but I liked it, and was proud of it nonetheless.
Later that night, I asked my mother to read it. "Did you write this?" she asked, sounding a little shocked. My mother is slowly making a habit of asking questions when the answers are alarmingly obvious.
No mum, I didn't write it. I just spent several hours drawing architectural sketches of the new hospital I'm going to build in Venezuela in my notebook.
Of-course I wrote it. You watched me.
"It's very good!" she remarked, in a tone that reassured me she really was impressed. "I can just imagine it, and it's so different from how the book really is. It's good!" she'd said.
My sister didn't bother reading it, as she hasn't read the book in the first place. I know she doesn't really want to though.
Mum asked me to print off an extra copy to show her best friend Sue. I like Sue. If it wasn't too late to make her my Godmother, I would ask mum to do it. Sue's lovely.
So I printed off an extra copy, and mum took it to work the next day. When she returned, she said, "I showed Sue your story. She said 'My God, this is brilliant! I got goosebumps reading it, it's fantastic.' "
"Really?" I replied, flattered and a little bit shocked. I didn't know anything I wrote ever gave anyone goosebumps. Apparently mum had also taken my piece to our social worker Karen, who's gradually becoming more like a family friend to us. Mum tells me Karen was amazed, and thought it was brilliant work for a year nine student, and that I have talent.
Then on Friday, as I added the finishing touches to the front cover of my piece, I asked my best friend to read it.
She hates english, and I know that it's partly because it's not her strongest subject. English doesn't make sense to her, the way math and numbers don't make sense to me. I don't hate math the way she hates english, but I think the fact that she's not so good at it, makes her feel even worse, hence her hatred for it.
I try and teach her things, and sometimes I think she learns more from me than from our teacher. But she still doesn't like it. I tell her she should read, and at least that will help expand her vocabulary, and assist her spelling, but she says books bore her, and she just doesn't like them.
So from then on, I made a silent pledge that one day, I would write a novel so amazing, it was engross her completely in the first chapter. It would mark the beginning of her new love of reading, and I would dedicate the book to her.
Anyway, I asked her to read my piece, and halfway through, she turned to me and said "That's what I like about what you write, I can see it in my head. I can just picture everything happening."
That, by itself said to me, You're a great writer, if you can make her fall in love with one of your pieces. If you can make her like reading, you're an amazing writer.'
So I submitted my writing piece to the teacher on Friday. I don't know if she'll like it. I don't know if I'll get a good mark. Maybe she'll find something wrong with my formatting, like she did last time.
But if people like what I write, then that's good enough for me. I'm going to keep writing. I'm going to write a novel soon. My very own one. I've started, just a few paragraphs. It'll get there soon. But right now, the rest is still un-written.
So I feel so blessed that people not only support my dream- they fuel me towards it. It's like a big, heaving push on the swings at the park, that sends you high into the sky like a bird.
Last week, I began writing a new chapter for the war novel 'The Boy In The Striped Pyjamas'. We were given six options, and one of them required us to write another chapter of the novel. Of-course, knowing me, I wrote three chapters, not one.
I decided to add in a shocking twist, and plenty of raw emotion, etc. I spent hours on it, and by Thursday night, I had hand-written nine pages of my three alternative chapters to the book. I didn't think it was that great, but I liked it, and was proud of it nonetheless.
Later that night, I asked my mother to read it. "Did you write this?" she asked, sounding a little shocked. My mother is slowly making a habit of asking questions when the answers are alarmingly obvious.
No mum, I didn't write it. I just spent several hours drawing architectural sketches of the new hospital I'm going to build in Venezuela in my notebook.
Of-course I wrote it. You watched me.
"It's very good!" she remarked, in a tone that reassured me she really was impressed. "I can just imagine it, and it's so different from how the book really is. It's good!" she'd said.
My sister didn't bother reading it, as she hasn't read the book in the first place. I know she doesn't really want to though.
Mum asked me to print off an extra copy to show her best friend Sue. I like Sue. If it wasn't too late to make her my Godmother, I would ask mum to do it. Sue's lovely.
So I printed off an extra copy, and mum took it to work the next day. When she returned, she said, "I showed Sue your story. She said 'My God, this is brilliant! I got goosebumps reading it, it's fantastic.' "
"Really?" I replied, flattered and a little bit shocked. I didn't know anything I wrote ever gave anyone goosebumps. Apparently mum had also taken my piece to our social worker Karen, who's gradually becoming more like a family friend to us. Mum tells me Karen was amazed, and thought it was brilliant work for a year nine student, and that I have talent.
Then on Friday, as I added the finishing touches to the front cover of my piece, I asked my best friend to read it.
She hates english, and I know that it's partly because it's not her strongest subject. English doesn't make sense to her, the way math and numbers don't make sense to me. I don't hate math the way she hates english, but I think the fact that she's not so good at it, makes her feel even worse, hence her hatred for it.
I try and teach her things, and sometimes I think she learns more from me than from our teacher. But she still doesn't like it. I tell her she should read, and at least that will help expand her vocabulary, and assist her spelling, but she says books bore her, and she just doesn't like them.
So from then on, I made a silent pledge that one day, I would write a novel so amazing, it was engross her completely in the first chapter. It would mark the beginning of her new love of reading, and I would dedicate the book to her.
Anyway, I asked her to read my piece, and halfway through, she turned to me and said "That's what I like about what you write, I can see it in my head. I can just picture everything happening."
That, by itself said to me, You're a great writer, if you can make her fall in love with one of your pieces. If you can make her like reading, you're an amazing writer.'
So I submitted my writing piece to the teacher on Friday. I don't know if she'll like it. I don't know if I'll get a good mark. Maybe she'll find something wrong with my formatting, like she did last time.
But if people like what I write, then that's good enough for me. I'm going to keep writing. I'm going to write a novel soon. My very own one. I've started, just a few paragraphs. It'll get there soon. But right now, the rest is still un-written.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Boy Meets Girl.
Uh-oh.
Here I go again. I can't help it, the urge has risen. I think I want to cut my hair again. Not just pixie-short. But shorter. Like a boy-cut.
Think Agyness Deyn, in all her wonder and unique style. Choppy layers, and minimum drying time.
Hair that looks as if it's tougher than steel, and cooler than ice. I want that.
And I know I said I was going to grow out my Autumn pixie-cut. I was aiming for flowy, long tresses that reached my hips.
Oh, but Agyness Deyn makes this look so good! I don't know if I want to grow it anymore. I think I want it shorter. I want to cut it.
I know I wanted beautiful long hair, but the pull is magnetic. Short hair beckons.
I'll have to discuss this further with friends. They won't be happy to hear of my sudden change of heart once again.
Oh well. The androgynous kid inside of me wants attention. Now.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Whatever Will Be, Will Be.
"The future's not ours to see, Que Sera, Que Sera."
And that's my problem.
You see I have a real problem with surprises and not knowing things. Maybe not as bad as my sister, whose much worse than I am with surprises- to the point where she just about ruined her own surprise party for herself (although she insisted she had a lovely time).
I just don't like not knowing the future. True, the future is not our to see. How do we know we'll even make it to the future anyway?
I'm not normally morbid, but hey, if I got hit by a bus tomorrow, my future would most likely be spent six feet under, and pushing daisies.
But I need to have at least a vague idea of what's in store for me. How will I know whether to anticipate good or bad? What can I brace myself for?
What if I brace myself for a future abundant with joy and prosperity, only to be depressed and broke in ten years to come (God forbid).
Or what if I spend all these years worrying about how awful my future will be, and plotting schemes to try and avoid that, only to realize I was in for a blessed future anyway?
I need to have some sort of idea! How can one possibly sit and wait; just wait and see what the future holds?
To me, it seems more possible for a sheep to give birth to an albatross. I hate waiting. More than anything. And the only thing I hate more than waiting is waiting and not knowing what to expect.
But I once realized, God doesn't give you challenges you can't overcome, nor does he give you a life you're unable to live.
So I won't brace myself for anything in particular. I'll just brace myself for the future.
Because whatever will be, will be.
And that's my problem.
You see I have a real problem with surprises and not knowing things. Maybe not as bad as my sister, whose much worse than I am with surprises- to the point where she just about ruined her own surprise party for herself (although she insisted she had a lovely time).
I just don't like not knowing the future. True, the future is not our to see. How do we know we'll even make it to the future anyway?
I'm not normally morbid, but hey, if I got hit by a bus tomorrow, my future would most likely be spent six feet under, and pushing daisies.
But I need to have at least a vague idea of what's in store for me. How will I know whether to anticipate good or bad? What can I brace myself for?
What if I brace myself for a future abundant with joy and prosperity, only to be depressed and broke in ten years to come (God forbid).
Or what if I spend all these years worrying about how awful my future will be, and plotting schemes to try and avoid that, only to realize I was in for a blessed future anyway?
I need to have some sort of idea! How can one possibly sit and wait; just wait and see what the future holds?
To me, it seems more possible for a sheep to give birth to an albatross. I hate waiting. More than anything. And the only thing I hate more than waiting is waiting and not knowing what to expect.
But I once realized, God doesn't give you challenges you can't overcome, nor does he give you a life you're unable to live.
So I won't brace myself for anything in particular. I'll just brace myself for the future.
Because whatever will be, will be.
Monday, August 23, 2010
The Ballerina Wanna-Be.
Last year it was Street Latin. And in fact, I trialled it at a dance studio one evening. I would have pursued if the teachers were not so terrible at teaching.
This year though, it's ballet. Oh, isn't it just beautiful? There isn't anything I dont love about ballet.
I love the leotards and the tutus. I love the tightly coiled buns, with not a single hair out of place. And I love, love, love ballet shoes, and watching when the ballerinas dance 'en pointe'. I think it's the most graceful and elegant thing I've ever seen in my entire life.
That's why to this day, my biggest regret is having not learnt ballet as a child. Oh, how I wish my mother had enrolled me in ballet.
What did she enroll me in instead? Swimming classes.
Alright, so I know how to swim, and in fact, as a result of how often I used to swim, I'm a rather strong swimmer; but what did i acquire along with good water skills? Broad shoulders.
I can get out of a rip in about fifteen seconds, and I could do backstroke in my sleep, but can I plie'
gracefully, or memorize all six positions?
I'd have to be dreaming.
I've considered starting ballet now, but being fifteen years old and having a not-so-ballet-like body, not to mention my lack of flexibility, I don't know how well I'd go.
Sometimes I watch how the ballerinas dance, and notice that I could do some of the things they do. If I practiced moving lighter on my feet, then I'd have no trouble being graceful.
If I had a pair of Blochs, I think I too could dance 'en pointe'. I can already do all the arm movements, I just need some balance.
Oh, not to mention their ability to live their legs over their heads, etc.
Maybe I'm kidding myself. Who knows though, maybe I was born to be a ballerina?
Maybe one day, I'll slip on some Blochs, and it will all come naturally. Or not.
But one can always hope..
Sunday, August 22, 2010
The Famine Diaries.
Day one: 10:25pm
And so it begins. Forty long hours of no food, no furniture and no technology. So far I'm not hungry at all. Not even slightly.
That may be due to the fact that I've only been food-less for an hour and twenty-five minutes; nevertheless! I will keep up this.. this lack of hunger.
I've also carefully and lovingly made myself a makeshift bed on the floor of my bedroom.
It consists of about nine or ten different blanks/doonas/sheets, plus a picnic mat, my pillow and my teddy called Bear. Together, the two of us are rather comfortable in our third world, first class bed.
Technology on the other hand.. I do miss my i-Pod already, but then again my i-Pod and are I are joined at the hip (i-Pods don't have hips..).
So far, I only have about $71.00. I am greatly disappointed.
If I don't have the better half of $150.00 by Monday.. there'll be hell to pay.
So sponsor me! Ugh, never mind. Goodnight bloggers. X
Day two: 9:40am
I haven't eaten in a little over 12 hours. And still, I'm not even hungry. I could go with a cup of tea, but I'm sure I can wait til Sunday, 1pm.
I had a surprisingly sound sleep on my bed of blankets, even though the hard wooden floors proved to be a little less than comfortable at times.
I'm doing fine without technology, but I still miss my i-Pod. And writing down my blogs in this notebook just feels like I'm talking to myself.
As yesterday evening, I still only have $71.00. And I am still highly disappointed.
I was told by a friend, "I'll give you twenty bucks if you can do it."
Well friend, it's almost been thirteen hours, and look at me go!
Fill you in soon, bloggers. X
11:00am
I'm bored. I want to play some music, or switch the TV on. I want to check my Facebook page.
And there are marshmallows, chocolates and toffees in a jar that seem to be taunting me from their spot on the kitchen counter.
This seems harder than last year..
1:00pm
I felt a rumbling in my stomach a little while ago. It lasted a few seconds and went away, and still hasn't returned.
I could really do with some chocolate right about now. Or tea. Or both. But I've got twenty-four hours to go. That's a whole day. That feels like a long time to have nothing but horrible barley sugars in my mouth.
I'm dreading four o'clock. Because at four o'clock, I have to go to work. I like work, but only when there are nice people on. Yesterday, it seemed like everyone hated me, and so I spent the better half of three hours walking about and polishing tables that were already perfectly clean.
But Thursday was an even worse shift, and in fact, I won't even begin to tell you about it.
Quarter past one.. Time really isn't my friend today, is it?
Hurry up, 1pm Sunday 22nd.
7:16pm
Home from work at last. I smell of oil and potatoes. Needless to say, I work at a fast food joint, and, since my employment, I haven't eaten fast food.
I can't believe myself, really.
What's even more outrageous is the fact I haven't eaten any food since 9 o'clock yesterday. It's almost been twenty-four hours!
Believe me, you all don't know how tempted I've been to eat a piece of chocolate or toffee.
My mouth hates me. All the chemoreceptors on my tongue want me dead.
I don't think I'll have to do much to win back their love tomorrow afternoon.
I know just the treat..
8:14pm
I'm hungry. I want to eat. Sixteen hours and forty-six minutes to go..
Day three: 2:25pm
Hurrah! 40 Hour Famine 2010 complete, approximately an hour and twenty-five minutes ago. The last hour was without doubt the most difficult, and I don't think I've ever appreciated food more than the way I did at 1 o'clock this afternoon.
Currently, the funds are at $281.00 which is almost double what I aimed to achieve by Monday. This year, I'm going to beat last years record, and lodge my application to become a Youth Ambassador.
I packed up my makeshift bed, and tore into the jar of chocolates, toffees and marshmallows. They were lovely, but I don't want them as much as I did yesterday..
And would you believe, my first meal was from a fast food joint.
And so it begins. Forty long hours of no food, no furniture and no technology. So far I'm not hungry at all. Not even slightly.
That may be due to the fact that I've only been food-less for an hour and twenty-five minutes; nevertheless! I will keep up this.. this lack of hunger.
I've also carefully and lovingly made myself a makeshift bed on the floor of my bedroom.
It consists of about nine or ten different blanks/doonas/sheets, plus a picnic mat, my pillow and my teddy called Bear. Together, the two of us are rather comfortable in our third world, first class bed.
Technology on the other hand.. I do miss my i-Pod already, but then again my i-Pod and are I are joined at the hip (i-Pods don't have hips..).
So far, I only have about $71.00. I am greatly disappointed.
If I don't have the better half of $150.00 by Monday.. there'll be hell to pay.
So sponsor me! Ugh, never mind. Goodnight bloggers. X
Day two: 9:40am
I haven't eaten in a little over 12 hours. And still, I'm not even hungry. I could go with a cup of tea, but I'm sure I can wait til Sunday, 1pm.
I had a surprisingly sound sleep on my bed of blankets, even though the hard wooden floors proved to be a little less than comfortable at times.
I'm doing fine without technology, but I still miss my i-Pod. And writing down my blogs in this notebook just feels like I'm talking to myself.
As yesterday evening, I still only have $71.00. And I am still highly disappointed.
I was told by a friend, "I'll give you twenty bucks if you can do it."
Well friend, it's almost been thirteen hours, and look at me go!
Fill you in soon, bloggers. X
11:00am
I'm bored. I want to play some music, or switch the TV on. I want to check my Facebook page.
And there are marshmallows, chocolates and toffees in a jar that seem to be taunting me from their spot on the kitchen counter.
This seems harder than last year..
1:00pm
I felt a rumbling in my stomach a little while ago. It lasted a few seconds and went away, and still hasn't returned.
I could really do with some chocolate right about now. Or tea. Or both. But I've got twenty-four hours to go. That's a whole day. That feels like a long time to have nothing but horrible barley sugars in my mouth.
I'm dreading four o'clock. Because at four o'clock, I have to go to work. I like work, but only when there are nice people on. Yesterday, it seemed like everyone hated me, and so I spent the better half of three hours walking about and polishing tables that were already perfectly clean.
But Thursday was an even worse shift, and in fact, I won't even begin to tell you about it.
Quarter past one.. Time really isn't my friend today, is it?
Hurry up, 1pm Sunday 22nd.
7:16pm
Home from work at last. I smell of oil and potatoes. Needless to say, I work at a fast food joint, and, since my employment, I haven't eaten fast food.
I can't believe myself, really.
What's even more outrageous is the fact I haven't eaten any food since 9 o'clock yesterday. It's almost been twenty-four hours!
Believe me, you all don't know how tempted I've been to eat a piece of chocolate or toffee.
My mouth hates me. All the chemoreceptors on my tongue want me dead.
I don't think I'll have to do much to win back their love tomorrow afternoon.
I know just the treat..
8:14pm
I'm hungry. I want to eat. Sixteen hours and forty-six minutes to go..
Day three: 2:25pm
Hurrah! 40 Hour Famine 2010 complete, approximately an hour and twenty-five minutes ago. The last hour was without doubt the most difficult, and I don't think I've ever appreciated food more than the way I did at 1 o'clock this afternoon.
Currently, the funds are at $281.00 which is almost double what I aimed to achieve by Monday. This year, I'm going to beat last years record, and lodge my application to become a Youth Ambassador.
I packed up my makeshift bed, and tore into the jar of chocolates, toffees and marshmallows. They were lovely, but I don't want them as much as I did yesterday..
And would you believe, my first meal was from a fast food joint.
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