Had quite a bit of fun today, at cadets and afterwards.
Chris (surprise, he was actually here!) taught us two lessons on nav, so we've only got four to go before AFX. I forgot to get the note for that. Will have to do it tomorrow.
After that, we were going to have a small drill competition between Chris and Coleman's sections, only Dene interrupted us after we'd done a right dress and a number, deciding that playing Gaelic football was much more fun.
He was right. For those who haven't played, the game is an insane combination of AFL and soccer. You can kick the ball along, and then people have to tackle you with soccer tackles. And at any time, you can pick the ball up and go for a run, bouncing it every ten steps. Then opponents can tackle you to the ground. At any time, you can choose to kick it, and if someone else catches that kick, then they can do one of their own without being tackled. I can't tackle properly. You're supposed to go for the legs, but I'm too scared of being kicked. But it was mad fun.
The teams were 13 vs 11 (No, Dene was not in a counting mood - "Potkonyak is 1, Coleman is 2. 1, 2, 1, 2, 2,2,2. And the rest of you are on Potkonyak's team.") I forget the score at the end.

Afterwards, I hung around at school, since mum had parent-teacher interviews. Rog, Coleman and Potkonyak were sitting on the garden wall, and Davo was standing in front of them talking about something. I don't think he saw me. He certainly didn't expect an attempted headlock. Yes, I was feeling somewhat stupid. No, I wasn't tall enough to actually get a good grip on his neck. Yes, he chased me and eventually pinned me on the ground after trying to trip me several times - not too hard, because I could get up afterwards, though he still had my wrists, so I couldn't do anything much. I tried to do something, which didn't work, and since I was in the right position, I tried to bite his balls, but there was too much cloth in the way. I got a facefull of his pants and shirt instead. He let go of me pretty fast after that. To our amusement, the other three were applauding. Much fun. I'm glad I'm not male. Their groin area is a great weakness when faced with people who like to fight dirty.

Davo was rather pissed off at Dene and I didn't get it out of him until Rog had left and it was just Coleman, him and I sitting on the tabletop. She can be funny, interesting, a good source of foolery when one feels like it, but also very cruel to people she doesn't like. I think it could be called arrogance. I'm glad she treats me sort of like an acquaintence. All of that group do, which is a good thing, I suppose. I don't know why Davo is hated so much, except for maybe because he can keep a grudge for a very long time, and shows it. Sure, others in the group do too, Ashe in particular, but they don't show it (as much), I suppose. He doesn't know why he hangs around them. He has taken the status of Marshall - the lowest. Rog thoroughly hates him, and neither of them know how to back down. In fact, I'm sure that she'd strike first, if it came to blows between them. She seems to like laughing at others' misfortune, and therefore, a bad influence.
One day, she was talking to Marshall and I was just standing around listening to them when she said something like, "You know, I have a game I like to play. I like to befriend people, get them to trust me and all. And then I like to betray them, totally turn on them. The further they fall, the funnier it is." To which Marshall replied, "Well, I'm in no danger there. I don't let anyone get close enough for me to trust. I don't trust anyone." Tarrant, who was also listening, said, "Yes, but Potkonyak trusts you (Rog). He trusts you a lot." I walked away at that point. I didn't want to be associated with people like her. She is a very false friend, and certainly no friend of mine.

Davo was pleasantly warm compared to the colder night air, and the moon a large, round, yellow wheel of cheese. It's not in Davo's nature to actually explain things to me. He simply doesn't do it. So it came as a bit of a surprise when he actually told me why he was annoyed at Dene, even though he knew that it wasn't really all Dene's fault. Turned out he'd wanted to do carparking for the parents coming to interviews, since Dene told him about how it'd happened last year. (When I got yelled at within 20 seconds of talking to a driver. I admit that my people skills are not that great.) He also wanted to be on the team doing carparking for the Year 11 recognition assembly on Friday. Dene had previously said that he could do them both; only there was no parking thing for the parent-teacher interviews, and Dene gave control of the group parking for the year 11 assembly to Coleman, and wouldn't allow anyone who'd already done parking before to participate.
Had a sudden feeling that it was Net147 that I wanted to be sharing body heat with, which I quickly pushed away. I feel like I'm becoming a distraction him, since he's usually working when I talk to him. And I distract myself in the process. :(
Was passing the story around a bit. English teacher hadn't read it yet (she never seems to read anything of mine as fast as she reads someone else's essays), so I took it back to let others read and edit it. Mum was told by her today that I'm actually the fourth worst in my English class. I don't care. It's all the damned Department of Education's fault that we have to do English. So what if people can't write essays when they get into uni? I thought uni was about learning, not writing stupid essays. As long as you know what you're doing, and can do it well, you'll find employment. The employer's not going to ask if you can write FUCKING 5 PAGE ESSAYS IN 40 MINUTES!!
Sorry. Enough ranting. But yes, the story is still titleless, and I'm not capturing much interest with the first paragraph. Especially if the reader's not in much of a thinking mood. It worries me, actually. I might have to write something dumbed down, just so my story will get read. I didn't intend for the thing to get so "mushy" - it was actually the last thing on my mind. But they say I'm a "hopeless romantic" and I guess my stories prove it. Every one of them.
Maybe I should write something about a hunt instead. A hunt from the viewpoint of a vampyre, perhaps. But no, that wouldn't work. That'd probably gross the judges out too much. I hate squeamish people, and squeamish females in particular. Weak, shallow fools. I can understand if they don't particularly like the taste. After all, it is a developed taste. But if you can't stand the sight of the substance that keeps you alive, then you shouldn't be alive.
Or maybe a dream of mine. A flying dream. And then falling. Yes, that might be suitable. The joy of flying, soaring on thermals, and then finding that you're not really a bird, you don't really have wings, and realising that it's not at all possible, at which point you fall down and die and horrible, splattered death on the roof of a car. I wonder what the total force of a human body falling onto the roof of a car is in Newtons. And then how fast the driver would drive off afterwards from shock, and how fast the body would slide onto the road. How many cars would then proceed to run it over like so much roadkill? Would it leave red streaks and bits of flesh and powdered bone on the back window? Oh wait. That is also too bloody descriptive.
Oh I know!! I'll write about wondering what to write! Yes, I've done something like that before, only it was a story about a person writing a story.
Good good. I'm off now. To write that story. Gory details and all.
Was warmed all day by the thought that Net147 was actually looking for me yesterday. Still am, actually. It feels good.