We're calling fiercely.. through muffled spaces.

I'm going to throw away all my Vic Uni application stuff. I've hoarded it all year, knowing God wants me to go to Carey next year, but still toying with that cotton thread that says maybe... just maybe.. I'll be doing English and Media and Social Policy at Vic next year. But that stuff can wait. Life is only half-lived if it's not with God, maybe even less. Mrs TR would call me a 'raging Puritan,' right about.... now. I still remember the first day of Year 13 History when she made the Protestants sit on one side of the room and Catholics on the other, telling us to "feel the hate" in order to make us feel the Tudor-Stuart England experience more. She tried pushing the seating arrangement on us for a few weeks, but I felt a bit lost sitting in the middle, insisting I wasn't neither denomination, HONEST, just a crazy follower of Jesus, but she still looks at me sometimes, doing that small half smile.. "Oh, SJC, you're such a Puritan." I think I've forgotten how to write poetry. This is a problem as it's integral to living life in a full-stomached way. I'm writing an essay about living together. As in, humans coexisting in society in literature, not de-facto relationships. On Monday, my new friend Rory called me a "raging liberal" because I'm a fan of welfare and feeding people, but then I feel a bit stuck, 'cause I hate the whole nanny state thing.