So, I get dressed; brush my teeth; wash my face; prepare my packed lunch and pack my school bag. I don’t have breakfast because again, I’d rather be sleeping and everything takes up too much of my precious time as it is. I’m extremely fussy when it comes to food, which is why I don’t have school lunches, but this has abominable consequences. Decisions on packed lunch have to be made at only quarter to eight whilst I’m still half asleep, attempting to do everything at once and am being hindered by my twin brother, Jeremy, yelling at me something along the lines of, “Hurry up! You’re always late! I’m going to miss my coach because of you!” - I don’t think he’ll ever allow me to forget that day when, as we arrived in Radlett, his bright yellow coach could be seen disappearing over the horizon and because my mother had to take my rota and I in the opposite direction to our school first, he arrived at St. Albans boys school rather late. Jeremy often continues, “Why didn’t you get up earlier?!” Clearly, he’s already aware of the answer because I know he can be tired too, but the antagonising tone in his voice results in my responding and the commencement of a shouting match.
If truth were to be told it can be great having a twin, we have many of the same friends and we do generally get on well; the only exception being on school mornings when we’re both in bad moods. However even this has a good point. Thinking up sarcastic comments requires thought and as I begin to use my brain, I gradually turn from a sleepwalking, extremely drowsy zombie into Jodie Rabin, a normal teenage girl – that is, of course, if you can ever describe a teenage girl as normal; but at least I arrive at school slightly more alert and prepared for work.
When actually in those dreaded lessons I do try as hard as possible – even if some of my teachers and I ‘don’t see eye to eye’. I strongly believe in the whole, ‘women should be treated as equals in the work-place’ issue and I therefore aim to get myself an exceedingly high-up, well-respected job. It just so happens that I haven’t determined any of the other details yet – oops! The problem is, unlike many, I don’t in fact have a preference between the arts and sciences. This is why at the moment I’m still having dilemmas over the decision of what A-levels I should take; even contemplating my career path for a moment leaves my head spinning.
As well as for the qualifications and of course, in the hope that I may actually learn something that’s interesting and will be useful in later life, one of the main reasons I do eventually drag myself out of bed on schooldays is to see my friends. I could spend all day with many of them at school and still find so much to talk about with them for hours on the phone during evenings and weekends, especially over the most insignificant subjects. My talkative ‘quality’ is probably what irritates both of my parents (and unfortunately some of my teachers too) the most, but then is it really my fault if I’ve got something important to say? My friends are talkative too and I think that’s why we get on so amazingly, even if once every so often there is a small row about something trivial. I’m sure I can be annoying too but what maddens me the most is when I’m teased about my ultra curly, frizzy hair.
For quite a while now my nickname has been ‘frizz’ although I suppose every-one does have good reason for calling me by it. I own so many different hair styling products for calming, de-frizzing and defining curls because my hair is so wild and none of them work individually! On camp last summer, the leaders thought of a ‘most likely to…’ for every-one there and somehow they resolved that I am ‘most likely to become a millionaire by developing a cure for frizz.’ Hmm… if only that would happen sooner rather than later. Daydreaming about this specifically is a regular occurrence for me. The requirement of hair products, magazines, make-up, and other such articles that I am not able to obtain the money for from my parents, causes me to often feel as if my pocket money has just vanished by magic into our atmosphere. If only it could reappear at the instant click of my fingers.
Waiting to collect Jeremy from his coach means I return from school just in time for Neighbours at half past five. Those sublime twenty-five minutes of my favourite soap allow me to forget any troubles, money or otherwise, and relax before beginning that dreadful slog known as homework. As I realise I carelessly forgot to write down what page the French exercise was on, or whether my Latin was supposed to be in rough or neat, (not that my untidy scrawl is legible either way) I pick up the phone to ask one simple question of a mate. A long discussion that plainly cannot be interrupted half way through is soon under-way and the next thing I know is that it’s late. By the time my work is completed I’m exhausted and as soon as my head hits the pillow I’ve drifted into a land that only tickling can bring me back from.
