At lunch I went to the library to print off CVs again.

Then I sat on the floor behind the classics (where nobody ever goes), trying to eat a packet of crisps, but Mrs. Day busted me straightaway.

Mrs. Day: Phoebe Davis. Hiding?

Me (swallowing a giant not-fully-chewed Kettle Chip, almost slicing open my trachea):…

Mrs. Day: I was going to have a word with you anyway.

Me (coughing): I’ve done nothing wrong.

Mrs. Day: There’s no eating in the library.

Me: Everyone does it.

Mrs. Day: And if everyone jumps off a bridge, do you jump off a bridge, too?

Me:…

I honestly thought I was in trouble for a minute, but turned out she just wanted to tell me how pleased she was I decided to take “mathematics” (who says that?) for one of my A levels.

Of course I’m going to do math. I mean, it’s easy, and I like that there’s only ever one answer, not like in English, where it’s all blah blah blah, and if you’re not a communist like Mr. Harris you get a shit grade.

On my way to history, I ran straight into Polly and Training Wheels, who were entangled in a tight embrace just by the first-floor toilets. Polly had her back to me, but Training Wheels looked me straight in the eyes and pulled her just that little bit closer.

I don’t even care anymore.

PS: I wonder if Emma and Luke Skywalker are like that when they’re together. Emma seems too grown-up to be that basic. But to be fair, so did Polly until it all went wrong.

Tuesday, February 6 #GoodNewsAtLast

Yes! I got an email from Dream Bear Factory inviting me to an “audition” on Saturday.

I suppose audition is their happy-clappy word for job interview.

Bring it. Seriously, how hard can it be?

PS: The designer cat’s back from High Barnet and has been asleep ever since, totally sexed out. I can’t even look at it.

Wednesday, February 7 #LifeChoices

Kate told me not to make fun of Dream Bear Factory, even though they call a job interview an “audition” and the email says “Thank you beary much for your interest in dreaming with us.”

Mum’s still in Turkey. I looked at a map, because I was like, how long can it take to drive to Syria? But Turkey is actually huge, three times the size of the UK, to be exact.

Mum said they passed through a village today and the locals offered them goat udders to eat, and all I’m thinking is: You could work at any London hospital, eat Pret or itsu or Marks & Spencer’s for lunch every day, sleep in a nice warm house, in a nice soft bed, spend time with your nice only child, and yet here you are trekking through shitty Turkey in the middle of winter eating goat udders.

I swear she thinks she’s the New Messiah.

Thursday, February 8 #DesperateTimes