#disaprin

[dopaminedoses]

#dragonstaff practice #disaprin #darkmonk

[exlibris9]

Excerpt V: For disaprin -> The first half of my S.S. project

The Diary of Jane H.W.  (KEEP OUT MUM!) 

Journal I: A Study in Leopard-Print

May 17th  5:00 P.M

I finished my AS-level this morning.  After the constant nagging from Mum, I would hope I can get into the University of London without a worry.  A-level tests, here I come! Feels like my eyeballs are about to fall out from the lack of sleep but what can I do about that?  At least I can be an Army surgeon like Dad.  Bloody boys, thinking they can have all the fun. 

“Probably just hate ye fer yer brains,” Mum likes to say. 

It helps, I won’t lie.  And I know I’m much smarter than the lot of them.  But it is ridiculous.  They tease me constantly. 

“Why don’t you wear your hair down?”

“Why do you dress like that?”

“Snub Jane!”

 And I swear, if I hear another jest about my chest I’m going to lose it.  Why can’t they all piss off?!  Knock.  Oi, might be Mum.  Better hide you.

May 17th 8:00PM

Sorry, ‘bout that. Got a postcard from Dad today.  He is in India right now.  Don’t quite know why, but honestly, I miss him.  And I suppose, it is better than Afghan.  He is always running about, traveling to bloody knows where.  But he’s my hero, you know.  He might need to go back to Afghan. Which is both exciting and frightening.  No girl wants to say:

“My Daddy blew up in Afghan today.” 

Oi, plus Mum doesn’t shut up until he is home.  Drives me bonkers, it does.  I do love me Mum, really I do.  But sometimes if she is missing Dad too much or had too much of the bitter, she gets over the top. 

“And ye want to do the same thing? Jane, why can’t ye just be normal?! Why do ye need to go mucking about in the Army, for God’s-sake!” 

Kills me when she says it.  I know why, trust me she can bawl about it for a good long time.  But still kills me nonetheless.  Luckily she only says it half the time. The other half she is jabbering on about my shoulder.  Cricket injury.  But honestly, is it my fault that my team got switched to facing the top group at the end of our season?!  We weren’t the greatest, by all means.  But bloody hell, I wasn’t going to lose to Prissy Patricia from “Cambridge” (when you say that you got to do a hair flip).  Don’t worry, we beat their arses.  But I had to learn about that from the emergency room.  Ruined my rotator cuff.  Luckily coach took me out of the game before I could hurt anything else, I suppose.  Can’t play cricket for while, if ever again.  But that doesn’t mean I can’t be an Army surgeon!  I’ve got to prove them all wrong, weak arm and all.  Alright, homework time.  I’ll write tomorrow.  Meeting up with Stamford for tea and the like.  Under the mattress you go!

~Sir Arthur Conan Doyle & E. M. Peterson

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