Note to self: Opticians Do Not Work That Way.

Just noticed some really stupid typos in my last post. Damn it.

Anyway, I wasn't sure what to talk about today, so I'll just witter about my Driving Lesson for a bit. Yes, I took my first one this afternoon, and despite the drama in the morning, it didn't actually go too badly. Yes, I stalled the thing- once a matter of seconds after being complimented on my clutch control, the other whilst trying to stop anyway. Yes, I mounted the pavement. Yes, the gear lever took a while to earn my trust, the stupid bloody thing. No, I didn't crash, not even when my brother wandered past and started shouting and waving, making me lose all sense of what I was doing. Yes, I was completely amazed by how much is involved in driving a car. You have to pay attention to about four or five different things at once, and I'm still at the stage where I can't do anything without getting in a muddle, and really have no idea how anyone manages to drive fluently. I'm just hoping that it doesn't take me too long to get the knack, whatever it may be, because this early stage is a bit frustrating, especially with my hand/eye co-ordination. It's more like juggling than anything else.

Oh, but I did manage to drive in glasses that only had one lens without suffering painful repurcussions. This had worried me prior to the lesson, after my mad dash into Hedge End in search of emergency last minute specs failed miserably and I was left with the most battered and broken pair on earth. I actually feel a lot more worldly than I did this morning because of this one journey. It was only today's experience that taught me that it's impossible to buy - glasses off the rack. Any glasses you see in a shop will be for reading, and opticians own nothing you can just buy. And there was stupid me, wandering around Marks, asking the shop assistant in increasingly desperate tones if there was anywhere that sold what I needed, taking the long walk up to Hedge End village... and then walking back down 10 minutes later after a brief, and very sheepish excursion into the opticians. I remember the mad panic I was in walking back to the bus, wondering how much I'd legally be allowed to do and should I risk a white lie if it came down to it.

Turned out I had nothing to worry about.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  

Day 3: When did you come out of the Goth closet? 


Well... I didn't, really. I had other people referring to me as a Goth before I'd worked out that I was one. If you mean 'when did I start calling myself Goth', then... pretty recently, but I wrote a whole post on it not too long ago, so I won't really go into the details. If you mean 'when did I admit to being a Goth'... well, again, that doesn't really apply. I'm not one for avoiding doing things 'in case someone makes fun', and besides, I was already the year weirdo long before I even started wanting alternative clothing, so it wasn't as though I had anything to lose. You know what, just stick me into the 'grew into it gradually so no coming out was needed' club. That fits well enough.