Okay, okay, I know I haven't written
for ages. But I've been busy. I've done my A Levels and left school, which to
be honest has been a massive upheaval in my life. I'm not quite sure what to do
anymore, and I'm missing the place like crazy. It's all a bit mad really. I've
also self published three books, which hopefully will be the start of
my career as an author. I'm working on my second novel now - no university or
gap year for me, which is something many people can't seem to get their heads around.
I also lost my grandpa in May. That
was difficult. I haven't really spoken about it to anybody at great length, as
I tend to keep my emotions close to my chest. I wrote some poems about it, but
that's the only way I've let my grief out really. I read two of them out at his
funeral. My mum asked me if I would, and I said 'of course'. But I never, ever,
ever imagined that it would be so hard. I think it was the hardest thing I've
ever had to do, but I did it. I've no idea how I even got the words out, especially by
the time I got to the second poem. I have never had to control my voice so much
in my life - it was on the edge of breaking and I had to hold that back in
order to actually speak. I am so glad I did read them though. I know that he
was proud of me for doing it, and I know that I would have regretted it if I
hadn't. I owed it to both him and myself, and we both knew it.
The way he went was horribly difficult
as well. He had just moved into a Bupa care home to deal with his Alzheimer's
that he'd had for years. It wasn't at the stage where he didn't know who we
were, but I suppose it was only a matter of time before he got there. Anyway,
about a week later he was taken to hospital with pneumonia, and after about
five days it was over. That was a horrid few days. Part of the time spent in
the hospital corridor looking after my little brother while my mum and dad were
with him, and part of the time sitting with him. He got worse over the days, so
later on we weren't sure if he knew we were there, but I think he did. The
first day I saw him in hospital he was the same Grandpa I knew, just a little
worse for wear physically. But he still chatted to us as usual. Then the next
day when we went back I was shocked. I wasn't quite able to process that the
man in the bed was my grandpa, he was so different and I can quite honestly say
I have never seen anybody suffering so much, let alone somebody I love, and I
never want to see anything like it again. It was sort of a blessing
that he finally went, despite it being hard to take for the rest of us. We
expected it as soon as he went into hospital - he was ninety after all - but
before that we could never have predicted what the week would bring.
I didn't know how to deal with it at
all. I still don't, and maybe I never will. I couldn't write any poetry for the
first few days, which I found odd as that's usually how I express myself. I
just went to school as usual that morning after the hospital rang, and felt
absolutely awful about it. I knew I needed to carry on as normal but that still
made me feel guilty. I couldn't even talk to anybody about it either - I didn't
even tell one of my best friends about it for ages, I couldn't seem to help but
stew in silence. I spoke to a friend at my drama group and she asked why I hadn't
been there at the previous week's meeting and I said I hadn't been able to go
because my grandpa had been taken into hospital that night. She said “Oh, I
hope he gets better." to which I said "He didn't." Then I
laughed. I actually laughed. She looked at me a bit oddly, but I just couldn't
help it. It sounded like an exchange from a sitcom or something. The last thing
it felt like was reality. Of course, I then had to explain why I had just
laughed, which just made the whole thing awkward. I'll definitely never forget
that moment.
I still miss him. And I think of all
the things he's missed as well. Me sitting my exams and passing them, the last
prom, leaving school for good, my first book being published, me winning
a competition at CFM (the local radio station) to report for them and
interview the Duke Of Gloucester and then doing further work
experience with them - loads of stuff. My exam results, ironically enough, were
released on what would have been his birthday. But it wasn't the big moments that
made me miss him being here to see them. It's the little moments, like
yesterday I finally bought a pair of red jeans that I had been wanting for over
a year, and a pair of proper Converse that I had also wanted for ages. And that
night, after having a really nice day shopping I just broke down because all I
wanted to do was be able to go over to his flat the next day or whenever we
would have seen him and tell him all about it. I remember telling him about my
desire for red jeans and I knew he'd be happy I'd finally got them and he'd
have loved to have seen them. I wanted to be able to ring him up and tell him
about my day shopping and tell him I'd show him my new stuff the next time I
saw him. But I couldn't. And that broke my heart quite unexpectedly.
And now I've been kicked out of school
as well. I do mean kicked out, because I really did not want to leave. I loved
the place. I spent the last seven years of my life going to that place every
day, and it was my routine. I'd got rid of things like Maths, French and
horrible PE - in Sixth Form you got to choose what you did in Games, and I am
proud to say I chose the least energetic option. I'd done table tennis in Year
12, which basically involved me watching the aforementioned sport, sometimes
while writing my book or some poetry, and having a laugh while the teacher
played against my friend and often lost. Then in Year 13 we both switched to do
badminton (the teacher supervising table tennis changed and I'll just say that
we didn't particularly get on with the new one) which still involved me
watching the sport, occasionally writing and having a laugh as before. I still
didn't like the waste of a double lesson where my time would have been better
spent actually doing some work or writing where I didn't have to hide my
notebook at a seconds notice, but it was bearable. So I liked school. I was
doing stuff that interested me (most of the time, there was that History lesson
I fell asleep in after all) and I got to see my friends every day and I had some
of the best times. But that's gone now. I'm not happy about it in the
slightest, I think I'd even suffer a PE lesson of hockey in the freezing rain
once a week if I could get the rest back. Now one of my best friends has gone
off to university and left me behind, which is hard to deal with, especially
when she says on the phone that she's 'replaced' me (in the nicest way
possible) but that was obviously going to happen. The rest of my friends are
still in school, so I don't get to see them much either. The dynamic of my
drama group I've been in for seven years has changed as well, and however much
the original crowd fight for it, it's never going to be the same. I guess it
doesn't help that I have a deep rooted hate/fear of change though.
But then again, the past six months
have also been wonderful. I passed all my A Levels without loss of sanity -
which at several times I thought was impossible, I had a wonderful holiday in
the summer, I've lost about two stone since leaving school (not even kidding, my
black waistcoat doesn't fit me anymore and I've had to start wearing a belt
with all my jeans) and I've actually published three books. Yes, THREE BOOKS.
Three actually bound wads of paper that you can pick up and read, with my name
on the cover and all the words inside were written by me and me alone (well
apart from a poem of my Granny's I popped in my first poetry book). It's so
exciting. I can hold my books and that's absolutely mind blowing. They're on
Amazon for Kindle as well - look!
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Zoe-Badder/e/B0091OHYTQ
I've already sold about forty online
and fifty in print. My dad, who I have appointed 'Sales Director', is going to
help me try and get them in actual proper bookshops, which is far
too exciting to actually be legal! I will try to keep this blog
updated to inform all you internet users of the latest news!
Finally, a lot of things have stayed
the same, which I can be very thankful. I'm still living at home with my
family, which is good. I'm currently sitting on my laptop (well, not ON my
laptop) in my onesie, with my headphones in (playing Crash by Matt Willis) to
drown out the sound of Sports Personality Of The Year that my dad is watching
in the same room. So it could be December 2011 for all that's changed there, and
I'm very thankful for the stuff that has stayed the same. I still go for
shopping days every so often with one of my best friends; we meet on the train
and proceed have a hilarious day. I still see another one of my best friends
about twice a week and write songs, take the mickey out of each other, talk
about nothing in particular, end up creating yet another in-joke and
cause unintentional havoc. I still have an incredibly enjoyable
time whining about the change in our drama group and laughing about anything
and everything with another one of my best friends. I still see another
friend every week and talk about the latest episode of The Vampire Diaries and
whatever else is happening in both our lives. I still have banter
with the people who are in the village pantomime with me. I
still reminisce about times on the school bus and the trip to see One
Direction live in January with my 'Bus Crew'. I still talk to my
'university' best friend at such random times (like when I was trying on clothes
in a changing room in M&S, but I still managed to catch up on the phone at
the same time) and plan things that never happen quite like they're supposed
to. I still go down every so often to visit my grandparents, giving my Grandma
Facebook tips and calling my Grandad a 'nutter'. I still make my mum laugh with
my mad little outbursts. My dad still pretends he wants me to move out and
whines about being my own personal taxi service. I still sneak up on my little
brother and scare the living daylights out of him at every possible opportunity.
I still talk to my cats like they understand me and refer to one as a badger
and the one as a squirrel. So everything's the same, but a little bit
different. Which is Mickey Smith's description of a parallel world
from Doctor Who, and I think that's pretty much it. It feels like I'm stuck in
a parallel world, but I'm so grateful for what's remained the same
and I'm trying to make the best of all the stuff that's changed.
And tomorrow night it's my A Level
awards evening. It's going to be the last time I'll see most of the people in
my year, unless we have a school reunion in the future. I'm not bothered in
the slightest about not seeing them again. In fact, some of them I
will be quite glad to see the back of. The teachers there are probably going to
think I should have gone to university, but I don't care. There's probably
going to be people asking what I'm doing with my life and they'll
probably scoff when I say I'm trying to establish myself as an author. But I'm
quite happy with that. I think writing this blog has helped me as well. I only
meant to update a short bit about what I'd been up to, but it turned into a
full blown therapy session. I've always got carried away while writing, but I
don't really say a lot. Well, not stuff like this anyway, deep and meaningful
stuff, like the things I've written here. And now, I'm going to spell check
this and post it, then I'm going to go and watch Rhod Gilbert and Michael McIntyre
on Alan Carr Chatty Man (from weeks ago) and hopefully have a really good belly
laugh!
