(7 on a scale of dead to breathing)

We’ve begun to settle into the new house, though we still don’t have a phone or internet connection. I continue to neglect study and organisation.
There are only two days of school left. My response is fairly standard – excitement confused with nostalgia. I’ll miss Hornsby.
I had a quart of blood taken out of my arm yesterday. On the way to the clinic I had a conversation with my mum about how it is movies and tv create such a nice sense of control in people. That’s why my dad and I are so into Buffy. Along with the quality wit and pretty girls who are sometimes gay, it provides the experience of danger in a manageable atmosphere. We attempted to decide whether Buffy operates as a third level sign – separating our reality from a reality of constant threat in order that while watching we feel increasingly safe in our own non-buffy world (when in fact the world is full of stupid intangible pain). So we then talked about reality construction for a while, before agreeing that we have both remained godless because all institutions are so infuriatingly parochial.
I love my mum.
Last night was Alyssa’s under the sea party, which was really nice. There was more of a D and M atmosphere than I’ve experienced in a while. And punch.
I’m going to finish sorting out my room today. My mum has tried to make my mattress more bedlike by putting another two mattresses on top of it. I’m half expecting someone to put peas underneath me while I sleep in order to find out whether I’m marriable.

Today has been a relatively good day. In fact, relative to the last couple of days, today was fantastic. Alyssa, Helen and I got angry about politics for a while in English, we played drama games in drama (hilarity and cultural stereotypes ensued), and I was able to come home early to the remainder of Buffy season 5.
I’ve now watched a season and a half in a week. I’ll probably finish the series by the HSC. Jenny advised me against ever trying any hard drugs.

Today I also started my reinvigoration regime, wherein I walk away my incapacitating weariness. I went to the place where the city looks like a toy, marvelled at the sunset, then wandered home and ticked off my health boxes.

I also wrote a haiku:

Walking in circles
Come, come, adrenalin, come!
Forehead is bleeding.

I should write about Saturday night, but to be cliché, words cannot closely express it. It was surreal, and at the same time made me feel incredibly, tangibly alive. The climax of surreal-ness was probably Bad Habit, because it was the first Dresden Dolls song I listened to, and the song that made me first fall in love with them all those years ago.
Experiences like that – music, art, sunsets – make me feel connected to something stronger than my own fragile existence. I like it. For one, it makes not writing practice essays less of a tragedy.
I managed to do the obsessive fan thing after the concert: I hung around and met Amanda Palmer. I shook her hand and told her that she’d changed my life.
I could have been a lot creepier. I am creepy when it comes to The Dresden Dolls. I love them.

And I love you! (most probably)

Night!