Love Is for Losers by Wibke Brueggemann (motivational books for men .TXT) 📕

Kate tried to act all normal tonight, but her pupils are literally blown, and she looks zombified.

PPS: I could have sworn James fancied Emma.

PPPS: I think everyone fancies Emma.

PPPPS: I hope Emma and I are okay after the weird hand-touching incident.

Tuesday, May 1 #StressingNotStressing

Today Craig Sullivan told me he was starting to stress about GCSEs, and so I spent the rest of the day wondering if that means it’s time for me to start stressing, too, because Craig Sullivan never studies for anything, because he’s got a photographic memory.

At lunch Matilda Hollingsworth was like: “I’ve basically not had time to wash my hair in like a week, and so I basically had to buy dry shampoo on my way to school.”

I’m not being funny, but if you’ve “basically” got time to go to school via the shops, and buy dry shampoo, you’ve “basically” got time to wash your hair like everybody else.

She needs to get over herself. Basically.

I think there’s, as always with people at school, a fine line between justified worry and irrational hysteria.

I’ve decided that I’m not going to worry about math, because I know that I know it, and there’s no way I will allow myself to be outsmarted by numbers.

In all fairness, the only thing that is actually making me twitchy is English literature.

I don’t agree with us having to do GCSEs in English the way we have to do them. I mean, English language is fine, because we need more people to know that “could of” doesn’t actually mean anything apart from the fact that you don’t know how to speak English, but why do I need to interpret a poem?

What’s my opinion got to do with GCSEs? And besides, it’s not that you’re actually allowed your own opinion anyway, because you have to say what the teachers want you to say/what the GCSE study guide suggests you say.

Everyone always goes on about how it’s so beneficial in life to be well-read, but mentioning something you’ve read for GCSEs neither makes you clever, nor does it make you sound clever, because everyone else has read it, too, and has the same opinion on it, because that’s the only opinion your brain was trained/allowed to remember.

I reckon that’s why everyone’s so stupid.

And one more thing: No one’s ever admitted to hating Romeo and Juliet, because you can’t possibly say anything against Shakespeare, and I swear you’d fail GCSEs if you did, even if you backed it up with the best arguments ever.

Fair enough, Shakespeare was popular and wrote a lot of plays, but Romeo and Juliet is actually a bit shit, isn’t it?

It’s basically teenagers throwing a massive tantrum.

Sure, it must be totally annoying if your parents don’t allow you to go out with someone, but do you kill yourself literally five minutes later?

In my opinion, Romeo and Juliet is a crap story well written, which disproves the theory that apparently you can’t polish a turd.

But can I say that?

No.

9:05 P.M.

I just texted Emma:

We’ve been slack with the donation of the week.

I mean, we’ve had nothing since the Star Wars poster.

9:10 P.M.

She texted back:

Thursday. It’s a date.

She’s obviously joking.

Wednesday, May 2 #PanicAttackCentral

Miriam Patel had a meltdown in math today.

It was LOL at first, with her literally rocking in her chair, Little-Miss-Smart-Ass glasses askew, chanting: “I don’t get it, I don’t get it, I don’t get it.”

But then she couldn’t breathe, even though she was taking in proper lungfuls, and Mrs. Adams made her breathe into a paper bag, but that didn’t help, and then it wasn’t funny anymore, and they ended up calling an ambulance, and Miriam Patel was taken to hospital.

Mrs. Adams reckons Miriam had a panic attack.

What the actual?

If this is what school does to people, then something is seriously wrong.

I normally think Miriam Patel’s, like, the biggest drama queen in the entire universe, but she looked proper shit scared.

I told Kate, and she was like: “Stress can manifest itself in many different ways.”

Trust Miriam Patel to take it to the extreme and be hospitalized.

Maybe I’m secretly stressed and that’s why I can’t sleep.

I’ve also had a tummy ache for days. Not like period pain, but up, just underneath my rib cage.

Thursday, May 3 #Mentionitis

Kate’s actually in love.

Blech!

I thought the ridiculousness that comes with it was reserved for teenagers (like Polly, not like me, obviously), but apparently not.

Kate: James isn’t working tonight, so he’s coming over for dinner.

Me: Okay.

Kate: James likes stir-fry, so I’m going to make one.

Me: Okay.

Kate: I think I’m going to get some beers in for me and James.

Me: Okay.

Kate: I wonder if James likes Cornettos.

Me: Can you say just one sentence without saying James?

Kate (doing the rapid blinking thing): No, I don’t think I can at the moment, pet.

Me: Can you at least try?

Kate: I don’t think I want to.

Me:…

Then Kate let out a high-pitched squeal, grabbed me, and kissed my face for like thirty seconds, going: “But you’re still my favorite. I love you, I love you, I looooove you.”

She’s so crazy.

And now she’s even crazier because she’s in love.

If this trend continues, I’ll be the last sane person standing.

No, it’ll be me and Pat, because she literally knows no emotion apart from annoyance and hatred.

PS: OMG, I’m Pat.

10:10 P.M.

Emma was weird today.

Everything was fine at first. We picked up The Woman’s Guide to Cookery and Household Management, and I was like: “Hmmm, delicious. Chicken and vegetables in aspic. Basically cat food,” and we laughed, and then we decided on the donation of the week. We’re going for the RockJam professional bongos. TBF, we basically chose it because we want Alex to ask all the old ladies who come to the till if he can interest them in the RockJam professional bongos, and see their reaction.

Then I didn’t really get to speak to Emma much, because she and Kate were changing some of the shop around, and because Pat wasn’t in, I had to select, steam, and price everything by