Drugged

This week, I've met a girl, and found out a few things about a boy. These two people make me want to do crazy things, like live life, and be happy, and reach out for success.

Its like a drug. I can sense it in my blood, its contagious. I can't wait for tomorrow, because I get to do the things I love to do. And the next day. And EVERY day.

I'm so in love with the possibilities life gives us. I want to run and embrace every single one.

Bear hug style.

Revolve

Is it too early to make new years resolutions? It justifies two questions - is it either too late to change things; or, the more positive outlook - should I just start early?

I've been wanting to achieve certain things for so long and have gotten no where nearer to my goal. It saddens me, and my OCD ways, to always write the same things on lists; to always reflect on incomplete tasks.

I watched a clip of James Franco talking about life in L.A., and he basically said 'why do any less than everything I want to do?' - it made me think about the things in my life that I want to do but haven't.

I will achieve. I will succeed. Not because of writing lists, or because of a compulsion to keep ticking things off lists. I will, because it is my actions that define me. I will be everything I can be, because I have already perceived myself doing so.

Dream as big as you can. Reach as high as you can. Open your world to all possibilities.

Unrequited

I feel lost at sea. I don't know which way to swim to get to land. I don't know if I should just start swimming, because there eventually will be land, or to wait, to get a better grasp, or to just float uselessly and hope the tide takes me back to shore. Eventually, if I stay here, I might get killed by a shark. But I have no idea, and the fear of what is beneath me is equal to the fear that lies ahead of me. So I just tread water like a dick head, not knowing what to do, knowing that every second in which I haven't decided is a second in which I could have been doing something.

Life. Money. Writing. Work. Love. Sex. Alcohol.

All the things that I feel I need to be getting on with, need to push past, are thwarted by my need for the other things that my fragile mind can't seem to cope without.

God I want to drink myself into numbness.


Instead I'm surrounding myself with tv shows, with story lines and plots and characters and other lives. I'm submerging myself into the world of Skins so that I can avoid my own life, my own problems. My extremely first world problems. My pathetic unrequited problems. My hopeless yet unending problems.

NOvember

I'm putting the 'no' into November by giving up a few things that are pretty bad for me: Alcohol, Sex and Swearing. This makes it sound like in October I was a party-tw*t and had an over abundance of all those things. This is not necessarily the case - for the most part, I'm just trying to clean my act up a bit. Have a bit of will power, self-restraint, and most of all, sort my life out so I feel less guilty when Christmas rocks around.

This afternoon I'm sorting more of my life out. I'm organising my 'study area' which until now has just been piles of papers, magazines, ideas and things dumped unceremoniously in an incarnation of 'work pending'. As this week I have been working the creative juices around my body for the first time in months, I feel in the mood for getting stuff done. I'm thinking about projects, about my dissertation, about how to relieve some of this pent-up emotion, and actually being a person, not just a robot who goes to work and worries about paying the bills.

I also finished Assassin's Creed 2 (again) the other day, so I can put the x-box controller down for a little while. Give my eyes a break. Turn back to the good old TV, and try get through the unending list I've made for myself.

I want to set myself targets, I want to push myself, I want to feel like I'm achieving stuff.

This week I made a trailer for my friend Gemma's play. She's the most useful person I met doing my masters, and I really hope that she's available when my dissertation comes knocking.

The Boys

This is like a Part II to the 'Besties' post.

I've always had two female besties and a group of male friends with whom I drink and tend to be in a relationship with one of them. First off, the 'Beccles Crew' which consisted of cousin Luke, boyfriend Shane and a variety of other people. Then the 'Bungay Crew' who I, until two months ago, would still call 'Ben's friends' because they are people who Ben went to school with / know through Bungay so I met through him. However, most of them I met when I was 15, so eight years later, I can call them my own friends. There were also smaller pockets of the '1 2 Toft Monks Crew' and the 'Eccles Gang', but we don't talk about them much. So it wasn't until I got to university and met the coolest kids on this planet and we all formed a power-group of awesomeness, that I could actually call my own. They are my boys. They are not people I know through someone else, and they are not the friends of a boyfriend who didn't know me before the relationship. They are my boys. And I love each and every one of them, for their own special reasons. And, to boost their fragile egos, and also because Nathan complained that he hadn't made it onto the 'besties' blog, I shall further my warm fuzzy feelings...

Big Gay Al-valanche
Group leader, if you will, as his dominant position in the class room often lead to him being the 'responsible one' and taking charge. Also because he's older, bigger, wiser... gayer? He had to carry me home once. I was too drunk to walk straight. His aversion to alcohol does tend to leave him in charge of the horrendously drunk people. Odd that. His 'loose' tent flaps. His love of history, particularly the Crusades. His shirts with massive holes in. His big black coat with paint dribble on it. His brother, Marsh, Dave 'Not That One', D&D, pints of coke, singing Poison, more pints of coke, and being Scottish. So much being Scottish.

Matt 'The Rage' Blanchette
He was thrown into the lion's den when Mike put him in a group with me, Sophie, Rhianmor and 'I bleed on cue' Stuart. But he held his own in The Coven, he stripped the glory from iKandi when he beat them (despite also being one of them?) at a karaoke competition, and he was the heart and soul of every horror class with Marc. It never once weirded me out how excited he'd get about pending blood, gore, titties and massacre. Back when he had longer hair, he'd walk into the room with metal/rock music loud enough that people nearby could distinguish which song it was, he'd have his head down, bouncing along holding some sort of chocolate or sugary snack and at least one bottle of Fanta. He'd get out his 'notepad' and doodle all lesson, chiming in only in the small classes where he could have a good rant about something that ground his gears. He'd always be twitching, be it a finger, a leg, a foot. Something would have to be moving. Sugar would have to escape somehow.

Will 'Fale' Sale
This guy's so cool he's got his own cult. He's so unexpectedly funny, calling Adam a twat, dancing to Macbeth and eating preposterous amounts of food. His knowledge of James Bond films, all things sci-fi, of Joss Whedon shows and of actual literature always made him far cooler than he knew he was. Kid's got swagger. Also a twin brother called James. The group of us with brothers called James - me, Will, Sophie, Matt. Popular name. Playing 'I Never' was always weird with him around though - he really knew how to catch out me and Maria. His four-pack of beer for every house party. His incredible birthday parties each year. His anorexic sister who ladened him with cake. His pasta and pesto. His mountain of mash and asda-price sausages. And of course, his unstoppable toast-eating.

Anthony 'Kamikaze' Macina
The thing I love most about Macina is the ability to see which face he has on. Sometimes he's the guy who is so drunk he will try convince everyone that police pulled them over, on the bus, at the bus stop, and somewhere else between the off-licence and the rapists. That same guy who tries kicking wing mirrors, who sings the whole way home and loves meeting french girls just to chat them up in a language we can't understand. But then there's the other guy, who is sober and thoughtful, a good friend and a great person, who does awesome things like learning someone's favourite songs to sing for them at their 21st birthday party. At both of the their 21st birthday parties.

Nathan 'The Liability' Edmonds
Ah Nate, where to start. If our group were the characters in a film, he'd be the central protagonist. The things he likes, he loves. His interests ooze out of him, giving his character more depth than most of us can dream of. Barefoot running, Jack Daniels and coke, Superstition, Sam Rockwell, Arrested Development, 30 Rock, The Wire, avocados, banana pancakes, giving up porn, leaving iron man during Rockwell's dance, telling me to fuck off on video (still makes me laugh), pulling faces, telling bad jokes, watching MMA, doing jujitsu, eating no carbs and trying to become Sam Rockwell.

Martin 'The Meerkat' Appleby
Would it be unfair to say he's my favourite of the group? I mean, its pretty obvious that he is. Him and his green hat, and his tea, and his wrestling, and his fantasy football, and his super skinny jeans, and his band t-shirts, and his love of Henry Rollins, and Mark Ruffalo, and Kirsten Dunst, and Pink, and Zooey, and Michelle, and Dawson's Creek. He is Pacey. And the 'five guys and a vegetarian' joke. And the Air-Plane (Air-Pane? WindowPlain?) game. And Blue Waffle. And playing Game Boy with Matt. And eating all my cake (not an innuendo). And making my birthday cake with Maria. And being the only boy I know who owns a hair dryer. And his InflataBall dance. And Drunk Martin. That month he gave up alcohol, we all got to know Sober Martin a whole lot better. Then The Return Of Drunk Martin happened. And he did silly things, like throwing rocks at Maria's window, and trying to give Paul a piggy back, and pushing Paul in the toilets, and being a bit rude to Paul. And jumping on Dan's back all the time, and screaming 'SAY WHAT?', and singing 'I got five on it', and kicking a telephone box, and being too drunk to get undressed, and smoking straights, and convincing strangers that he's my boyfriend, and then actually becoming that. And Friends, and New Girl, and Him and Her, and Dawson's Creek again. And giving him bourbons for Christmas. And my homemade macaroni cheese.

David Coates / Number One
My first thought was 'he ain't heavy, he's my brother'. He ain't my brother. He's the first one to make the dirty joke, he's the first one in the door of Forbidden Planet, and the last one out of the cinema (when he's not working obviously). He's the one who drinks silly girly drinks with me, he's the laugh you hear from down the corridor, he's the fan boy that outshines even my gayness, and he's the one who never has money because he spends it all on Comic-Con, merchandise, gigs, movie events and his general fanboy-type things. He's the one who didn't finish uni; he wrote 57 pages of good stuff but couldn't finish it. He's the opposite of Nathan. He's potentially the only member of the KOC to have paid for more than one round? (a round of cokes, that is). He does the daftest things sometimes, but he's loveable despite. Kinda like Duckie in Pretty in Pink. I don't know who would be Andie in that scenario...


We're getting older, doing things and seeing stuff and wanting to feel more grown up and important. But at the end of the day, we all know that where we all really still wanna be is in my living room, middle of the night, sofas outside, benches down, The Law in position, getting sweaty over a balloon.

I love you, Max. You're so money.

The Disgrace Jar

In our flat we have a disgrace jar. Each time we 'disgrace', we have to pay a pound. The current money inside is from the following:

Jack, on the first night in the flat, cut his penis open on his girlfriend's frayed coil and dripped blood all through the flat. It went everywhere.

First drunk night in the flat, Milli and I got through lots of wine. And then played Arrogance. And then I vommited all the stir-fry and noodles into the bathtub. And blocked the bath. And flooded the bathroom.

Luke slept with Amy. Three times. And with Charlotte, once.

I slept with Dukie, and Henry. (On separate nights)

So there should be eight pounds in there now.

Today, my mother and father disgusted me. They swore SO MUCH about nothing. It was dust that they swore about. Then mother swore about father swearing about dust. It was ridiculous. And following my horrific realisation that I'm too much like my father, I've decided to act upon this: I'm stopping swearing, and every 'slip up' costs me 50p into the disgrace jar.

Jack's happy, because he plans on buying something 'nice' when its time to empty it. It won't be full until there is about £300 in there, I reckon, so I don't know what would make us open it early. Maybe when Jack moves out...

Either way, the Disgrace Jar is the metaphor for forgiveness in this flat. Pay the premium, and all will be forgotten... supposedly.

Stop Running

You can't run from the past. It will always catch up with you. You've just got to accept that some waves crash and drag the beach back with them, and some waves ebb slowly back and forth. Life is not  'now', it is an ever-growing organism; it is you, and all that you are, morphing through time, moving with the tide. Stop fighting the tide and let your fears be as loud as your love. Let the waves crash around you and take your body from shore to shore; you are the particles of sand that move from beach to beach; you are seeing the world slowly, at a pace not controlled by you, but you cannot go faster or slower, you can only go with it. Stop fighting the tide. Stop running from what you are, from who you are. We are all everything that we can be in every cell of our body and by accepting our lifelines as well as our bodies we can all move together, we can make beautiful beaches, coves, inlets, we can destroy cliffs and we can make lagoons and spits. One day we'll wash ashore and dry and float in the desert like butterflies in a storm. But only when we accept.

    To every moment you must be true. Your life is lived only by you. Fear not what you do or do not control; we place the hope of humanity within each other.

I am a juggernaut of self-expectation. I am the confidence which I wish to have. I am in love with my own life. I am a patient time-bomb; I am a rushing hour glass; I am time, I am place, I am energy and love.

All that I know is within myself; I am all knowledge and wisdom.
You are not less than that. You can be everything, you can be more; we say that we try but we do not try enough. Take my hand and jump; we'll float on waves and swim in the shallows.

The Besties

'Best Friend' sounds slightly childish to me, but there are certain people who are not just friends. Calling Sam or Milli a 'friend' seems too small, almost rude. I want to make note of all the amazing people in my life who I have at one point, called a 'best friend'. And I'm going to do it by gender. I don't know why.

The Girls

First off, of course - Louise Howarth

Abbi Benjafield and Sadie Riches, in primary school. And maybe Steph Bell too.

Between primary and high school, there's Alex Howarth.

Chamaale Dooldeniya, first friend at high school.

Becky Williams (Head), Abi Parker and Vicky Weal all came next.

I think there was a moment when Laura Gregor McGregor was a 'bestie'.

Then Milli Chenery turned up, followed by Sam Stewart.

Lucy Montagu and Kristy Burton happened at very similar times.

Then George Eldridge, and Celia Cooper.

Coming into sixth form now, and Athena Mills-Vingoe and stole my heart a bit. 

Then across to Hampshire, and the main lady, Maria Sethi arrived in my life.

After a few months I had found Sophie Newman and Rhianmor Thomas.

Then back to Norfolk, and Jasmine Donovan happened. 

So 21 female best friends in all my life. Still talk to / close with / know well - 11. Not too shabby,

The Boys

Again, starting with the obvious - Ben Howarth

Didn't really know boys / was that close with them for a lot of my childhood. Except, obviously, the above.

Does my dog count? No. Weird.

So, high school. Barnaby Rose. Shane Sumner. James Ingham. Jack Ansell. And Ben Whall.

University. Matt Blanchette. Martin Appleby. Definitely not the boyfriend in the middle. I might have called Rich 'one of my best friends', but I don't think that counts either.

Home again, after all of that, the two boys I live with: Luke Wood and Jack Haynes.

It should be noted that I've dated and/or slept with most of the boys on this list. The last two, thankfully, are an exception to the rule. As is Ansell, as he was Sam's boyfriend whilst we were close. And Howarth. Never slept with him. Dated when we were six or seven. Didn't last.

Still friends? Um... Howarth, Luke and Jack. And I am on 'speaking terms' with some of the others. But, all things considered, he does take top trumps in longest male best friend of all time / have not slept with him despite close friendship / his sisters have been my friends for years but he's always the Howarth that I go to see. Socially. I go see Louise when we need to do exercise. Ben does not get involved in that.

My girls make up my world, but my boys - the relationships that mean something to me are the ones where we were best friends, and he was the person I'd want to tell stupid things to, I'd want to text every second of the day, and I'd feel totally lost if I couldn't speak to him for some reason. And it tends to have always been me that ruined it. Usually by cheating. Actually, thinking about it - Barn, cheated, speaking terms. Shane, cheated, not spoken to in years. Whall, cheated, doesn't want to acknowledge my existence. Ansell - Sam cheated, they broke up, we stopped speaking. Ingham and Matt not really 'boyfriends' but yeah, stuff happened there, mainly my fault. So the black sheep in my horrendous list of failed relationships? Martin. 

There's a strange little thought to end the day on.

space dementia

I write this on my Kindle. I am alive.the blogging world will soon be my oyster once again. Things have happened, my world is all new and shiny.

Watch this space, universe. I'm coming to knock your metaphorical socks off.

Haunted

I can never get away from my past. The person I used to be, and the actions and consequences of that person. I can't run away.

And my past seems to be catching up with me.



No matter how many burnt bridges I salvage, or fences I mend, I cannot fix everything, and I know the things that are unfixable. The relationships which set sail so long ago, I wouldn't know what ocean to find them in anymore. One of these, probably the most 'famous' example, is Whall, a man actively ignoring me, as much as that is oxymoronic.

But the other things come back to me, haunt me, and I don't know what to do about them. Bob, for instance, scares the living shit out of me. I once mentioned (and now cannot find reference to it at all) the faces I was scared of ever seeing again. Bob was one of them, and I have still not seen, so can't comment on that. And one used to be Sophie, but I addressed that fear, and now, things are better. My head is less terrified. But last night I remembered another one; a fear of a face I had forgotten to be afraid of, because I pushed him out of my mind, and last night I was rudely reminded of that fear. I haven't seen him, but it seems inevitable - his best friend is my new assistant manager, and as he will be returning from Leeds soon, supposedly for good, it seems unlikely that we will always miss each other in the few pubs that we all frequent.

Problem is, my fear of him is one-sided, as he refuses to acknowledge my existence / pretends not to remember who I am, what we did, what he did, and that everyone we both know knows about it, yet he still denies it. When I told Ed that I knew him, Ed asked him if he knew me, and he said no. That shit kinda stings, because I can't hear his surname without my backbone shivering and my body stiffens like a cat sensing the presence of a dog.

Despite all this, and despite having never spoken to my counsellor about it, I understand completely why my head does the things it does. I understand entirely why I am a paranoid and nervous little girl when faced with the inevitability of seeing Thomson again.

The fucking prick.

Angel

On sunday, I watched episode 22 of season 5 of Angel. Its taken a while to get through it all, mainly because I've had breaks, because Angel is hard to digest in one whack.

Season 1 starts off, its great, you get the feel, its similar but different from Buffy, its got this whole 'dark city' thing, like Gotham, going on. But then (spoiler alert) Doyle dies. And things shift a bit, Wesley turns up, yet he and Cordelia's relationship has totally changed, and he and Angel see face to face, and it is further from Buffy than before. And the rest of season 1 fits in with season 2 and 3 quite nicely. They all follow the same pattern, the same rules, the same logic.

Then the 'shanshu' stuff gets a bit weird. The idea of a pre-destined fate is already an issue in Buffy, and now they're saying that prophecies can be made up? And also, that this prophecy, be it about Angel or about Spike, cannot be denied because someone signed a piece of paper. They basically shit all over religion and say that instead of a God or deity, its some lawyers up there, finding loopholes in contracts and negotiating life and death.

And Connor is a weird one. Like, it makes sense to bring Darla and Angel's stories back together, after years of separation and a soul in the way, but the story development of Connor as a teenager, and Cordelia, and then her demon-possession business and all that stuff... It gets a bit too controversial to believe. Its like they saw the parallels with the bible, and wondered how far they could replace 'divine' with 'demon', and the whole 'a few deaths for the greater good of all mankind' notion, which Angel then destroys, and despite being the protagonist, you do feel a bit like he's the bad guy.

And the last season does too much with too little time, so some issues are just swept right over. Like Eve, and the whole 'creation of the senior partners' business. Like she's the child of a virgin mother, yet is sent to earth to keep order and control within what the partners want, and spy on / sneak around Angel and co, trying to figure out what the Higher Powers are up to.

But I did enjoy it. Its entertaining, it's funny and it's human. The seasons are too long, and the chronology doesn't fit with Buffy, which is annoying, but it does all make sense. The only thing that bugged me the most, as often does with Joss Whedon, is the fact that he left his old cast alive, and killed off / sent away the new kids. The end isn't exactly happy, but it there was ever more to come, its just Angel and Spike (and Illyria) who could have survived.


Best moments? Andrew, Angel and Cordy getting it on, the episode when Buffy is dating the Immortal, and all the little in-jokes and quips. And spike saying about the existence of half-robot-half-humans - "you think people don't have sex with robots? happens more often than you'd think".

Number Nine

I believed that you were my biggest mistake; that you were the one thing I did wrong and I needed to try correct it in any way possible. I always wanted to protect you; I wanted to take away your pain and anger, your frustration, your insecurities and your problems. Not that I wanted to 'fix' you, because to me you were always the perfect version of you - I just wanted to help you, and make you happy. I don't know what I was ever fighting against or fighting for, because upon reflection, it was me that I needed to protect you from: it was me that caused pain and anger, frustration and insecurities. And I'm really sorry about that. I never wanted to hurt you, and its taken me five years to realise what you really meant to me.

If your happiness is being with her, then I cannot fault that decision. That's all I ever wanted to achieve: to make you happy. But I guess you might actually be happier without me; without me in your life, poking my nose in, asking questions and making your friends and girlfriend feel uncomfortable.


I wrote a short about you. About you and me, about our friendship. And it made everything better, it made me feel less sad about not knowing you anymore, because at least I have the memories that I do, and nothing can ever destroy that. So I plan to make that short script into a short film; not to do anything with, specifically, but just to have in my archive, as a little ode to my memory of you, and I hope that you can understand that.

You are the most interesting, hilarious and ridiculous person I met at uni. I could write a list of more entertaining people on the back of a postage stamp. And for that reason, many of my characters are inspired by you, in one way or another. I hope you can take that as a compliment.

Imperfections

I have a scar on my left shoulder from where I picked at a spot years ago.

I have three moles on my belly that make a line.

I have a scar on my right thigh from the swordfish oil spitting.

I have a scar on my left forearm that only I can see; its very faint, but I know its there, still visible.

I have a skin tag on the right hand side of my neck, but its too far back for me to see.

I have a couple of horrible red marks from ingrowing hairs from when I last epilated: one on my right underarm, one at the top of my right thigh.


There are things about myself that I don't like, and I wish I could change. But this is a list of things that are different. All these affects, these 'imperfections', are things that I cannot change, or actively chose not to (the skin tag, I'm told, can be removed, but I've never been bothered enough to do so). These 'imperfections' are things about my body that are not attractive or endearing, but I have learned to live with and through the knowledge that I cannot change them, have let them become part of who I am. We all have scars, marks and holes in our bodies, but that's what makes us unique. I may not be a different person from having had some swordfish oil burn through my tights and onto my thigh, no - but I equally would not be ashamed of the scar, try to cover it or hide it or spend time effort and money having it removed - because I have come to learn what might be a type of self-acceptance, in its most minor form.

Memories within us cannot be projected outward physically; yet scars are the bodies memories. So most of my 'imperfections' are reminders of what I once did, and who I once was, and all I need to remember is that that version of me was not perfect, and neither is this version of me today, but I know that today I am a better, cleverer, more caring and more thoughtful person than I was then. Scars remind me of self-improvement, so I will never get rid of them.

The Other Henry

I sat in my car for almost an hour chatting with a friend last night. It was gone 1am, and we were mainly discussing mutual friends and their bizarre relationships, but some real issues and thoughts were touched upon. How can men and women be just friends? There are certain lines that cannot be crossed, and certain conventions that must be upheld, but it is possible, it just depends upon the people. And this friend with whom I spoke, asked me a question which I couldn't really truthfully answer. He asked me how I felt about someone, and the answer I gave him was honest, just confused, as I truthfully am. And now, this morning, I feel better for having been asked that question. And I want to thank that friend for asking me, but I know that he'd have no idea why I was thanking him, or what it really all means.

So instead, I will write this short ode: to Henry, for being a blunt guy; for always just saying what he thinks, telling it as it is, and for somehow knowing that of all of Ben's friends who I would also call my own friends, that he is actually the easiest to talk to, despite knowing him for the shortest amount of time.

Patience is Bitter

Everything has been leading towards this, the whole time, and now that I see it, it seems so obvious, but I never knew that this is where things were leading to. I never would have seen this coming. And now, its only moments away, and I want to reach out, grab it, embrace it and grow from it.


And somehow, daft as it sounds in my own head, I know that he is at the centre of all of this. I know that my happiness, my getting better, my decisions and my motivations can all be centred upon him. And he doesn't know it, but I do. And he doesn't know how much those little things mean to me. And he has no idea of the impact that he's had on my life, and particularly, is about to have. It's exciting yet terrifying. I want to tell him, but I can't. And I'm sure other people know too. Other people are suspicious of my casual happiness, of my good moods and my up-beat nature. And questions are being asked which I know I can't lie about, so instead I'm either avoiding the question or changing it around, answering a different question or starting a funny digression. It won't keep up; they'll notice soon. And he must have noticed, but maybe that's a good thing.

Time will tell.

As Jean-Jacques Rousseau said, "Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet."

Hormone Replacements - part II

Yesterday was busy, so today I will reflect, and explain further.

My sister was in pain, and I took her to the GP and the GP feared it might be appendicitis, so yesterday we hauled-ass to the delightful Norfolk and Norwich University Hospital, a stone's throw away from the UEA, and actually a nice hospital. I've only seen pieces of others before, like the time I went the have an ultrasound at Southampton - and the NNUH is quite nice.

So we got there at 5.30pm, and got home at 10.45pm, very hungry and still unaware of what was causing the pain. And I could have waited there all night. My kindle battery died and my phone battery was getting low, but I could have sat with her, waiting for doctors, listening to the same talk of anti-biotics and waterworks for hours more. I wanted to, because I wanted to help her, and help her be back at full health. And I realised, when sitting there, as she tried to sleep on another uncomfortable hospital bed wrapped in blue paper, writhing in pain, that all the other stuff I may have told people about my sister and me, and all the 'drama' and things that have happened, don't really matter in the end. She's been home since the 17th, coming and going from Glastonbury and London and whatnot, but mainly has been here for two weeks. And I'm not sick of her, or in any way angry with her. I feel calmer, and more at peace, and more happy in general. I also don't believe it is a coincidence that this is happening at the same time as other big leaps in my family life: I think that this is actually a very positive step in the 'growing up' process. I genuinely feel the connection that I used to feel when I was very small, and have not felt for a very long time; the feeling of having a sister, a person there for you, who you too are there for, no matter what, because you are sisters for life, no matter what, and other family struggles or arguments will never change that.

So the proposal she gave me looks more appealing than she knows, because I trust myself to be able to succeed, and form a very effective business relationship with my sisters.

My second reflection is of a person I know, and I'm thinking a lot about our relationship at the moment.

It's hard to define how I feel, or what I feel, because I think my toes have nudged too many pools of possibility. We might have been more, we might have been closer, or further apart, or have a very different friendship. But what we are now sits at a crossroads of what we've already done, and what is immediately ahead of us, agreed by both of us, to be the next step in our relationship, and it's a difficult concept to grasp. What if he brings girls home, and I hear them? Or, on the flip side, what if we start watching tv and films together, and as it gets colder, need to snuggle under a blanket? What if one is drunk and the other sober, and something slips out, some unsaid truth is revealed, and changes our already questionable relationship? What if the other flatmate gets caught in all of this too?

I have a lot of worries in my head, but I cannot worry about them, because this is the future I have chosen for myself and I will not change that. But it scares me, what might be around the corner - because it might hurt me, or I might feel like I can't cope, and I might want to go home, but I don't want that to happen. If all else fails, I may just take a quick trip to Italy, clear my head, listen to the voice of reason and calm. And, it's not long until Sam is home. When she comes home, life will make sense to me again. I can feel a goodness, a positivity, just beyond the horizon. I'm just trying to be patient, eagerly awaiting the golden light to wash over me, make me feel human again.

I also had a hilarious message last night from someone, and I'm not sure if I should go there or not. It's like... well, it's like my head has to choose between two different guys, and my goal of two different outcomes: good sex that doesn't last, or wait a while for a good relationship? Right now, I'm picking the latter, but that might not last long.

Hormone Replacements

Tomorrow, I will tell you about my sister. I will tell the tale of today's adventures in A&E. I will also explain my new epiphany about my family and my feelings towards them.

Tomorrow I will also talk about a boy I know. He's a very special boy, and I want to explain why.

Today has been a good day, overall. Today I have been very busy doing very little. Its strange to reflect on 14 hours of sunlight-bathing and waiting-room sitting. Tomorrow, I will explain further.

Tomorrow, hopefully, my new sunburn will be less new, less bright, less embarrassing. Tomorrow will also be sunny and hot, so I will be more forthcoming with suncream.

Tomorrow I must wake up at 5am to go to work. So this blog entry must now conclude, for I must sleep.


Until tomorrow.

One Giant Baby Step

I've been pushing myself in weird directions recently, and yesterday I made the decision to take my small step forward a little bit further.

I've agreed to live in a flat in Bungay with two good mates, Luke and Jack, and I'm really excited about it. But questions about my current employment keep bobbing around my nervous head: what if Mum and Dad pull out of the golf club? What if I don't make enough money one month, or if Mum doesn't pay me on time, and I can't make rent? What if they're so angry that I'm moving out that they don't want to employ me anymore? Millions of things buzzing around, unanswerable, vague and usually the lack of answer is more worrying than anything else.

So last night, whilst enduring a ridiculously hectic and unorganised shift at the Golf Club, I decided that I wanted out. I don't know if the conversation I had had with my sister the night before was the reason, or just a spark in the giant fire, but either way, I knew that I needed to secure my future for myself and stop being pushed over and taken for granted. I asked Katie, boss at the Rumsey, to employ me full-time. And bless her soul, she wrote up a rota for me there and then.

So my 'baby step' of moving out is now actually moving out of the house and having another job which is more important and trumps almost everything Mum can offer. The only real loss is that I won't be able to do Cambridge any more, but maybe that's a good thing - cut off all the ties, even the ones that I might have held on to.

So this is literally the new chapter, the next step, the future version of Laura messing up all this stuff. For the better? I hope so, but cannot know for sure. Either way, I'm going to go into this head first, chin up, look it in the eye and smile at it. My first world problems need to end. Right now, I can't wait for the next few days to happen.

I wonder how quickly I can pack up 14 months of my life and get out?

Morphine

Two nights in a row of drinking, not sleeping, drinking through my unsolved issues, drinking past my paranoia, and drinking out of my inhibitions. Both nights were spent with the same three people in common - Chris, Ollie and Imogen. And today, I spent all day with Chris, a 38 year old I'd just met called James, and an old friend called Ben (not Howarth). And now I am very tired, but I feel better about one thing: I know that when all else feels crap, its not drink that solves things, it's good company. Particularly when that good company is so fond of hugs.

In the small hours of [this morning / last night] a bottle of morphine came out, and everyone started sipping. Ollie hit the floor after two sips. Chris got to about 7, everyone else kept it safe and had a good time with it. The Donovan house was rather full for once, so four of us had to sleep on two sofas: Ollie and Imo on one, Chris and I on the other. To add some backstory, Chris and I have been friends for over a year now, having met when I worked at the Locks. We still hang out quite a lot, usually as a large group, but recently we've had some fun adventures together, particularly the 4am sunrise / beach swimming session, during which we had a nap (and a spoon, as dry towel space was limited) and all was cosy. So on the sofa we snuggled up with our sleeping bags and cushions and slept like monsters.

The small Donovan kids came into the living room at 9am to see who was sleeping in their house, informed us that they were getting the day off school because there mother had overslept and was too hungover to drive them in, and then they left. I realised for the first time that I'd had a couple of really deep, intense dreams, like I was shocked to wake up and discover that they weren't real, but their contents had not stuck very well in my mind, so fear not, this is not a dream entry. And Chris, who has been drinking heavily every night for over a week due to fear of going home and telling his father about being unemployed, got the first good night's sleep since starting his drinking binge. He puts it down to the morphine, but I felt something different (and barely had any morphine) - I think you sleep better when someone is next to you. Like, they are mentally protecting you from invasive bad dreams, negative emotions and that over-tiredness from sleeping all day. Its healthy to sleep next to another person, and to wake up to the sound of their heart beat. And all day I've felt a little lighter, and a little easier, because I had a few good hours of sleep.

I also got some excellent news today - there is a flat in Bungay which the landlords want to give us the tenancy to! Party times with Jack and Luke. Ayipee!

Also also, my sisters are home at the moment, preparing for their weekend in Glastonbury, and I yet still not told them about my visits to the uni counsellor. Tomorrow I also get a call from the NHS counsellor about further my sessions, as she thinks cognitive behaviour therapy will be beneficial, which involves face-to-face sessions with another counsellor. So I may have 3 counsellors. Odd.

This Empty House

I'm stuck in this house today. I feel trapped. I have a vehicle, so I can leave at any point, but the problem is that I don't have anywhere to go.

I am the only person in the house that ever goes food shopping, and because mother hasn't paid me and my bank balance is getting low, I can't afford to do a food shop (and am kind of on strike, to see how long it takes until someone else does it), so there is no food in the house. This makes my Dad happy because he believes he's losing weight from not eating dinner, and it makes my Mum seem to not care, instead have a dinner of toast and 'bar food' (be that peanuts or a pie, I don't know). However, my lack of money means I cannot leave to buy food from such a place. My Dad just handed over £50 sympathy notes because Mum can't pay me because of 'cash flow'. But still, this house is useless. It contains no food, no family, no support system or care, no shoulder to cry on or company to watch a film with. We only ever talk about the business, we watch Pointless and Eggheads every dinner time, they both drink as soon as they're in the door and my 'study' has turned into the place I can hide away all day. This isn't supposed to be my recluse, it's supposed to help inspire and get me focused.

This house sucks all my life out of me.

I'm going to have a bowl of cereal for dinner, and continue watching the Secret Diaries of a Call Girl. I'll probably finish it tonight - that's four series in two days. New record?

And worst of all? The Howarths have said I can go and live there, I can escape this place and get my life together. But first, I have to talk to Mum and Dad. My whole life I've avoided these types of conversations. But I have to do it; I have to get out; I must get my life back. This is no way to live.

One Day Son

There's so much going on in my head right now. And I've had too little sleep to deal with most of it, so last night I had one extensively excruciating dream which tried to deal with a billion things in ten seconds and hurt my head a bit. I need to get out of this house. My brother is home, so I want to see him, but I can't be here. I need out.

I'm in one of those moods when I just want to listen to loud rock music all day long.

My dissertation is scaring me. Its this ominous thing just beyond the horizon and I can't see it to focus on my enemy, I can only cower in fear.

I'm running away today to get some writing done.

And all I want to do, my escape right now, is to watch all of The Secret Diaries of a Call Girl.


I feel the same way I felt last year at this time - the pressure of the business is thwarting my own hopes and plans.

Perceptions

I've been watching a show called 'Perception' this week. Season 1 is only ten episodes long, and season 2 starts at the end of June. It's a show about a doctor who is both a neurobiologist, and a paranoid schizophrenic. And he helps an FBI agent solve bizarre mysteries and things. Its a little bit like Fringe, a little bit like X-Files, but so much lighter and happier than both those shows. Its sunny, and its not about government conspiracies and horrendous things like that; its more about how we cope as people from day to day, and the weird things our brains can do.

Doctor Daniel Pierce is played by Eric McCormack aka Will Truman from Will and Grace. And his FBI friend, Kate Moretti, is played by Rachel Leigh Cook aka the girl from She's All That, and Pierce's most frequent imaginary visitor is a girl called Natalie, played by Kelly Rowan aka Kirsten Cohen in The OC. But, here's the odd thing - Pierce is older than Moretti, as she's an old student of his (at university) and to show his age more, McCormack has a good bit of rough facial hair going on. It makes him look like a strange mix between David Duchovny (as Hank Moody) and Mark Ruffalo. But McCormack must be going through the same thing that Duchovny went through - fear of always being labelled by the one big show, so now that there is another successful show, one must appear differently, to avoid the connections and associations always made with the previous role. For both actors, apparently this is solved by growing facial hair, as if their former selves were incapable.

I've got a couple of films to watch, also about 'imaginary' people, and then I will watch Dexter.

Unfortunately, my dissertation seems to be happening at the same time as everything else in the world. The parents have a new business venture - the Bungay and Waveney Valley Golf Club, for one, and also their repeating need to work less because Dad is too old and broken, means that I'm working a lot more for them, and I've only got a couple more weekends at the Rumsey before I leave, and I'm still at uni every tuesday morning for counselling, which is unearthing lots of things but not making me feel any less broken, or any more content with who I am. And the more busy I am, the more I want to break away. Just get away, drive somewhere. Last weekend, watching the sun rise with Chris at 4am, freezing cold on Lowestoft beach, I realised that the reason we'd got there is because it's as far as I can drive, eastward. I wish I could just keep driving. I've been to the corners of the UK (admittedly, having not seen most of the middle stuff), and knowing how far away Devon, Edinburgh, Aberystwyth and Brighton are, it's not enough. I need to go further. I itch to get out.

Pending news about Sam's return in October. Watch this space.

Hope for my future is being confused with knowledge of the immediate future.

Ben's drama with ladies is making it hard to see him without content. I can be his friend, but when he just ignores my advice and then complains about his situation again the next day, I can't do much more for him, so now I just want it to be over. I can't be the one to spill the beans, because it's not my place to do so. But I need him as a friend right now, and he's not being a very good one, and its getting harder, day by day.

And then Helen phones me, and I'm even more confused.

And then I have a dream and I'm even more confused than before. After all of this, after everything's been said and done, am I actually not over him yet? Or is there something else in store for us. Is my psychic mind ringing in the next idea, or am I just stuck in a groove thinking about him again.

I'm bringing this up with the counsellor this week.


If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks, then I'll follow you into the dark.

My Green Jumper

I'm swimming in the smoke of bridges I have burned
So don't apologise, I'm losing what I don't deserve.

I had a dream last night. Lots of things in it have since escaped my mind, because I didn't want to hold on to it: it was a very strange dream which involved lots of issues that I don't want to deal with in my waking hours. But I do remember one part of my dream. I'm not sure if I remember it because I want to, or because it was one of the last images, and it remained in my mind. I was a student at Solent, but lived in Brighton, with Maria, Martin and Ollie. And nobody's stuff was in the right place, and it was annoying me, and it was a four-bedroomed place, like the place at Burlington Road, but it wasn't, at all. Like, the two doors coming out of the very similar kitchen went opposite ways - but the 'garden' door, which went to a new part of the house, not the living room, meant the house was a weird shape, and the 'livingroom' door went to the garden, which was somehow in the middle of the house. Like my brain couldn't deal with creating a logical new house, so it literally rubix-cubed the old house around a bit.

Things happened of little consequence - an argument was had about butter which Ollie bought and Maria used; maybe a cleaning rota was discussed, something like that - but then I went up to get my boxes of stuff out of Martin's room.

I just never left.

And I remember hearing Ollie complaining. Being like "here we go again", or something, and then playing F1 really loudly. And, weird as it is to think (after a random dream), but I think that our friendship can't go back to what it was; if we ever made a valiant effort to see each other frequently as friends, we'd end up being in a relationship again. Because that's what our friendship had built towards anyway. Like, there's a gravity in the universe, and when we spend time together, that gravity ignites and pulls us together.

Remember that posh guy, looked a bit like Marcus Mumford, who drunkenly made up the whole 'handcuffed to a radiator' thing? I found my green jumper earlier, and remembered that night.

Sometimes I'm tempted to just get away from here for a little while. Just get in my car and head to Brighton. And then I start to think about it, and I think about Manchester, and I think about just pretending like the last year didn't happen for two days and just be with him again, and hope that this terrifying world could leave me alone, and let me feel happiness and warmth again.

But then I remember the advice that I gave him: you can't run away from your problems.

Maybe I can run away, then come back? 'Circling' my problems.


Maybe.

20 Bedford Square

I miss my own bedsheets, which I bought, with my money.

I miss being able to call things 'mine' instead of either 'ours', 'yours' or 'hers'. 

I miss furniture and home comforts, like the bedside-table I bought from the charity shop up the road.

I miss the big old shitty tv and Maria's second-hand x-box.

I miss Assassin's Creed.

I miss having take-away. Here, take-away is either fish and chips, or its cooked in a microwave, with tesco packaging. In Brighton, everything is withint five minute's walk, and its hot and bad for you and delicious.

I miss the hilton pool. I miss the hilton gym. I wonder what happened to the guy I'd chat with in Sauna who had a girlfriend in... Arkansas? Somewhere in the US.

I miss 'communal areas'. This house has no communal area, because as soon as you're doing something in it, the other people around don't want to be there anymore. Because tapping at a keyboard, or cooking food, is annoying.

I miss cooking meals together. I miss enjoying the whole process, from deciding what to buy, splitting the cost, splitting the bags evenly, cooking up a meal and all sitting down together to eat it.

I miss Maria's paella. And her tiramisu. and her curries. and her banana milkshake. and her homemade soup.

I miss mac and cheese. I haven't made it since.

I miss having a flat small enough that baking made even the bathroom smell yummy.

I miss the sound of seagulls from the balcony.

I miss being able to listen to music in the house, dance around whilst cooking, or just, whenever.

I miss spending nights in together on the sofa.

I miss the comfort of having someone to say goodnight to, and good morning to.

I miss my old boss. And her cat. and the simplicity of my old job.

I miss walking to starbucks on the way to work in the morning (even though it's really cliched).

I miss the excitement of having a Molly Maid car for a couple days, as transport was a rarity.

I miss the sound of the sea, and the feel of the fresh wind on your face.

I miss seeing the sunset into the water.

I miss Western Road, and Churchill Square, and the stupid clocktower that never showed the correct time.

I miss the houses I used to clean in, the beautiful flats, the mansions, the country houses, the farms, the cottages and the seven story terraced house on the most expensive sea-front square in Brighton.

I miss the gay couples who would phone up and piss off Gilly by being 'too touchy' about their homes.

I miss the weird mod rocker from the charity shop, and his ex-heroin addict ways.


There are so many things about living there that I loved, but there are two things I miss more than everything else. Two people who made all those things quirky and loveable, and without them, Brighton wouldn't have been my home. I miss living with my two best friends and sharing the scary independence we had all thrown ourselves into.

Sometimes, when I'm having a shit day, or something's getting my down (or I just feel ill and glum) I'll pretend I'm sitting on the arm chair, next to the balcony window, and I can see the blue sky above, and I can hear the gulls scrapping around in the bins outside, and I can smell curry, either from our kitchen or the Indian up the road, and all the doors are open and I can hear life and a buzz around me and I'm exactly where I want to be.

But then I open my eyes, and the woman I live with never cooks or listens to music, and the man never wants to sit down and watch "shitty American tv" when there are fascinating things to watch on bbc 4 instead.

There are some good things about being here; I'm not saying if I could turn back time I'd change it, but I know what I loved there, and the things that I enjoy and appreciate here are less tangible.

I miss having all that love in my life. 

Up In The Air

I can feel something in the air. A ripple of the oncoming wave has hit my body, and there is an energy and an excitement to it, but I have no idea what it is. I'm just smiling at the knowledge that something is coming, something with a positive energy, and it's already making me smile. I'm preparing for anything; expecting the unexpected. Something is coming to turn my life around a bit, and my arms are stretched out so big and wide, embracing the change.

All day I've heard people complaining about the weather, but I know that eventually it will be warm again, so there's no need to worry or moan. Just put your hood up and get on with life, because complaining doesn't change anything. I'm not quite 'dancing in the rain', as it's more like 'getting on with work, despite the weather', but it's still progress.

I miss Maria today. I do most days anyway, but today many things have reminded me of her. The winds of change, for one thing, and the fact that my counsellor has told me the exact same thing Maria told me years ago - no matter what it is, follow your gut feeling. I've had lots of gut feelings recently, I'm just hoping that I have the patience to follow through with them.

I'm also watching The New Normal and loving it.

And I'm organising my life in brilliant ways, makes me excited to do mundane tasks again. Yay for being OCD!

Love Lust Faith + Dreams

... is the title of the brand new 30 Seconds to Mars album, out today. I pre-ordered it two months or so ago, been awaiting this bad boy for some time. Currently having my first ever listen, knowing how much I will listen to it, it's an odd thing to de-virginise yourself with a pre-conceived notion of not caring what you hear, because even if you don't like it, one day you'll love it. Best example of this is 'Stranger in a strange land' from This Is War. Hated it at first. Now, one of my favourite 30stm songs.

Love, Lust, Faith and Dreams. Jared is always vague when it comes to art - his films, his music and his music videos are all made purposefully obscure so that anyone can connect with it in a billion different ways. The album title is typical vague Leto style, but it hits a nerve with me. These four things have been missing from my life for too long - if Dreams is taken as ambitions, not actual dreams, as I always have those bad boys - and this album reminds me that I want those things back. They are worth fighting for.


I'm fighting for my life. I'm fighting to get my life back. I fought with myself between april 18th and may 16th, trying to get an already late essay done, not just handing in a piece of shit, and I fought, and I asked for an extension and did all the appropriate things to keep myself on track and today I picked it up from the Hub and I got a 70 for it. Sometimes, if I kick myself hard enough, I remember that life is worth fighting for, because when it comes down to it, I can achieve things. I can do well.

My 'dissertation' sounds too clinical. I want to call it my baby, my art-form, my incarnation of my soul.

I'm going to get my drive back, get the blood pumping in these veins again, and do myself justice.

And then I'm going to party like it's 1999.

Dirty Pop

This has got to be the definition of 'pop' and all it's awesomeness. You can't listen to shit like One Direction, The Wanted and Beiber when you remember Justin, and N*Sync, and the Backstreet Boys. They owned the '90s, and they had the boyband made. Boybands that don't dance need to be damn good at other things - like McFly, they write and perform, or Take That, who sing and dance (a bit) and write, or Blue, they had Lee who was a very good singer. Having Harry Styles' face doesn't make you a good boy band. Being able to dance, sing and get a crowd going like Justin makes a good boyband. And I still believe that Justin wasn't the best in N*Sync, I say it's JC Chasez. That man can mooooove!

Needless to say, watching old clips of MTV award show performances makes me miss good pop. Pop today has lost its umph.

The best thing I ever saw, N*Sync performing Dirty Pop at the MTV awards 2001, with guest appearance at the end by Michael Jackson. However, this video doesn't exist in full on youtube anymore, which is a crying shame. It was the best thing ever. EVER. (Yes, better than all the times girls have made out on stage at MTV awards. Far better).

The Man of My Dreams

I had a really long dream this morning, after my 8+ hours of sleep. I can't remember it all, as it was so long, but I'll try summarise it.

I was in a pub, I think it was a mixture between the Dragon and the Rumsey, as I was working, but my shift finished early, so I joined some friends for drinking. During the shift, a guy had been flirting with me (as per!) and he approached me at the table with my friends (Howarth, Steph and Chris - funny story I may tell one day) and me and Chris were playing the 'three letter word' game and I was FINALLY winning with a word I have since forgotten, and this guy came over and started talking to me. He said a few obvious things, feigning interest in my life, and then asked if I had plans for the evening. Chris jumped in with 'no, we're all off to bed soon, she needs company' prompting him to ask me to his place.

At his 'place', I walked around, and it was massive. Like, the house of my dreams. It had a wine cellar, a back extension with pool, sauna, hot tub, etc. A huge kitchen with a big aga and a dining room coming right off it with a separate 'drinks room' with cocktail bar, whiskeys and juke box and all kinds of old cool things, and walking around the place I sort of fell in love, and asked him how he had such a nice house, and he said that it had been his parents, his Dad had passed away when he was young, and it was all his mother had left, so she left it in her will for him, so he owned it outright but wouldn't be able to afford it, and didn't like living in such a big place on his own. I told him I would happily move in, keep him company, help with the upkeep and cooking. We were in the kitchen, and I found a massive walk-in pantry with properly organised jars of EVERYTHING, baking section and all, and he said, in a very non-commital way, "would you marry me?". I literally looked at him like, was that a joke or for real? and his returning look was serious, so I smiled and said yes. [at this point I'd like to draw attention to my otherwise unknown gold digger persona. WHAT?] He was good looking, reminded me a tiny bit of both Mark and Whall, but was nothing like them personality-wise. We kissed, tried to get to know each other a little bit, but suddenly everyone we both knew had heard we were engaged. Ben, Chris and Steph rocked up with people from the rumsey, including all the staff and managers that I work with, and then gradually more and more people were there, asking how it happened, was it too soon, is it because I was pregnant etc etc. And as they asked, my answers became more and more astute. I realised how much I wanted to get married, and have the safety of knowing that someone would always be there for me, as a promise. I want to know that my future has hope and happiness, and in this stranger I could see both those things. And it was all marvellous.

This dream suddenly blurred and took a turn for the worse.

I was out in the garden, admiring the plants and flowers and telling my fiancee that I would love to have a vegetable patch, and this guy appeared, and I knew who he was, but couldn't put my finger on his face. For now, I'll call him David. David wanted to congratulate us both, and leaned in to kiss me on the cheek, and as he did, he whispered in my ear "I always hoped it'd be me". This made me confused, as I really couldn't remember him, so why had he hoped to marry me? Anyway, he went back inside. I wanted to seize the moment as I was finally alone with fiancee for the first time since I said yes, but commotion was happening inside. I went through and David was storming out of the door, and everyone looked upset or shocked, and they told me I needed to go after him and fix things. So I did, reluctantly. Outside the front door, David had disappeared. I ran to find him, along this dark road with no street lights, just the sound of the sea nearby (how we got from central Norwich to the Coast I don't know) and lots of tall dark trees. Then he grabbed me and ran. I couldn't understand what was happening - my feet were off the ground, I was speeding along, and I could just feel these massive arms around me, holding me so tightly that I couldn't move at all, but for once didn't feel unsafe at being picked up. We went to a motel with awful yellow walls. He took me inside, put me on a seat, and apologised for what he had done. He said he needed my help, and I needed to listen to him and do exactly what he said before it's too late. "There's a supermarket nearby where everyone else is waiting for you. I know this, so you need to act fast. I don't know when, but I'm going to change soon, and I need you to change me back. The two little girls in the next room will be able to help you, but I will probably try to kill them first, so protect them. I'm sorry about whatever might happen; if nothing else, keep yourself alive. I need you." His face started to flicker, like something out of Fringe. I didn't know what to do first, but go for the girls. He went into the bathroom. "Barricade me in, but don't take too long... I'll break out quickly enough." I threw the heaviest thing I could find - the large table with the TV on - against the door and went next door. The girls looked terrified. I asked them to take me to the supermarket. On the way down, I heard him screaming from the bathroom - it was happening. I could see the supermarket across the road, but it was too far, I needed to protect them. A woman selling teddy bears and other kids stuff had a stall next to us, and I got the girls to hide within the teddies. I told the woman that I was sorry, he'll probably find them, and she seemed to understand. She sprayed the area with a perfume, and lit a candle, and pulled from her neck a crucifix necklace, showing it off. I ran over to the supermarket.

Inside I found all the people I was expecting to find - Jasmine and her brother and sisters, a muscled black guy called Gun, two British guys and a physics dork. However, they feared I had changed, and one of the british guys grabbed me. I reached for his flick knife in his sock and told him that "if I had changed, why would I have come alone?" We ran through the aisles looking for what we needed. Rope, chains, handcuffs, anything to restrain people. Jasmine's littlest sisters, Poppy and Rosie, were the innocent unknowns, so they were point-guard in the frozen section - direct view of the entrance, but far enough away to be safe. We all had walkie talkies. The chain was next to the alcohol aisle, and two familiar faces came over to say hi - Spence and Hunt. I was a bit shocked to see them, but hugged them and told them that they either need to run away or stay with us to help. They stayed. Spence seemed a bit drunk, and was hitting on Jasmine, but Hunt was trying to help. He asked me what I needed, and I realised I was starving, so he got a packet of biscuits out of his bag, and we all sat silently for a moment, eating, waiting. Mack and Chloe, Jasmine's other siblings, had found weapons. Mack had broken up loads of crates out back, so we all had various wooden splinters and stakes to hand. Chloe was upstairs in the control room, ready to security-bolt the door for when he arrived. We all knew that this wasn't going to go smoothly, but if we could at least protect the rest of the world, that was the main aim. We heard screams from outside. Various people in the supermarket fled - some out the back, and some straight into his arms. We could hear the torture as he ripped them apart. Wesley made the fun comment of "he's gaining strength". We all knew what was about to happen.

As a side note, 'David' is David Boreanaz, i.e. Angel. He's a vampire, in case you hadn't gotten there. And his evil side, Angelus, was out to get us.

A body smashed through the automatic glass doors, and he walked slowly in afterwards, carefully stepping over the mangled body. He whistled, a happy, creepy whistle, looking for us. I knew that walkie talkies were a pointless endeavour now - he has super hearing. Hunt crawled up beside me, and whispered "the little girls". I didn't know which he meant; the ones out with the teddies, or Poppy and Rosie? I peered cautiously around the corner of the aisle and saw two pairs of legs disappearing; they were very close to where Angelus roamed. Spike, not useful for much, as he's a ghost, but immortal because he's a ghost, flittered about nearby. I beckoned him down, pointed to the place I saw the feet, and he casually walked off, as if unaware of the mounting tension. The place Chloe was hiding on the first floor had a glass front to it, to view the whole supermarket. I saw two other faces flick past; it must be Poppy and Rosie. If they are all up there, he's still down here, and they can see what's going on. Jasmine quickly drew a map of attack - spread out, weapons at the ready, try to move him into position under the glass-front upstairs. Jasmine seemed to have a plan. We spread out - Jasmine and Wesley took the far right corner, Mack and Gun took the far left corner, Fred and Spence went forward right, Hunt and I forward left. I knew he was paying attention to everything in the supermarket - every whisper, every breath, every squeak of a shoe, every hair whipping around a corner. Splitting up aloud the slight advantage that his senses would be confused, but we still expected at least half the group to be killed. It was not looking good.

We could see Fred and Spence from our position, but were clueless to the whereabouts of the others or angelus. Fred decided to venture forwards, pulling the square in. She moved along the aisle, towards us, leaving Spence in the corner. Half way along, she stopped dead. We couldn't see what was happening. She was trying to slowly lower herself without making a single sound. Spence wasn't looking; he was looking right, possibly towards Jasmine and Wesley. Hunt was turned around, watching to the right and behind, and he didn't see what I had a full view of: a stake smashed up through Spence's jaw, pushed so hard that it threw him backwards, and he smashed into the freezers, blood pouring onto the floor. Fred was still facing me, and saw my eyes change. Her eyes, covered in fear, asked me what to do. I beckoned her forward; we moved forward; we met at the middle opening of the aisles, directly beneath the glass front. I knew that this place was important to Jasmine's plan; I knew that to defeat him, he had to be standing here. Dead or alive, we could still make a difference. I didn't want to make it obvious that we were telling Angel our position - he couldn't know I was calling his bluff. So I waited for Hunt's eyes to fall on the scene Fred; his best friend mutilated carelessly and pointlessly. A slight crack sounded a back of his throat; a gut reaction, slighter than a breath. But it worked. I saw a flash of dark material further up to the left; I beckoned Fred to hide inside the aisle next to us, and we would be in full view. I turned my walkie talkie back on, and held it behind my back, heart jumping, terrified, hoping that the others would know what to do. He came into view, locked his eyes on me, and approached.

Hunt had taken hold of my hand and was shaking uncontrollably, palms sweating, face glistening with silent tears. I needed to not think about it. I needed to focus. Angel sauntered forwards, finally close enough to hear our hearts thumping, our veins bursting with blood, too good to be missed. Two of us meant it couldn't be silent; two of us meant he couldn't kill us without attracting attention to himself. We both knew that. So he stood, meters from us, just smiling. I could see Spike at the other end of the corridor we faced; he had the two little girls with him, and he saw me, nodded, and herded them towards the back door. This was the moment for my diversion; Angel would hear the back door otherwise. But how would Chloe know to let the back door open? I knew it was a risk, but I went for it anyway. I raised my hand with the walkie talkie in, clicked the 'speak' button, and said "chloe". Angel watched, bemused. An echo of my voice returned throughout the room; the other's weren't far away. He turned his head, acknowledging people's positions. I hit the 'call' button. A loud, horrendous noise emitted from it, a series of bleeps and rings, and I saw four walkie talkies launch into the air as they were thrown backwards. The music system came on, and the sound turned up, and chloe's voice echoed throughout the room. "can whoever is making all the ruckus in aisle three please keep it down?" angel looked up at the glass front, and wesley, jasmine and gun launched themselves at him, chains being thrown everywhere. Hunt let out a tiny breath next to me, as if he'd been holding it this whole time. 

The glass front smashed open, showering Hunt and I with glass; the sound of wheels squeaking and juddering suddenly stopped as the large bucket that Chloe, Poppy and Rosie had pushed out the window came soaring upside-down onto Angel, pouring it's entire contents onto him; an electric-blue liquid soaked the place and most of us.

He was himself again, and he thanked me. I looked up to see the two little girls in the room as well; they had provided the recipe for the liquid to restore him. They were worth protecting after all.

And as I approached Angel to check he was himself and not just faking like usual, he looked up at me, smiled, and said "I can't believe you're getting married".

Stones and Marbles

So, the road trip went well. I spent a lot of money on petrol, but I believe it was worth every penny. It was nice to see everyone and I have some more fun memories to add to the list of why 2013 is better than 2012.

I've since been watching some bizarre things on Youtube. Firstly, the 'shit girls say' videos, which made me die with laughter, as they are so true, and I am guilty of most of the things in the video. And that lead me to the video blog of one Jenna Marbles. I'd heard of her before, somehow, and now I find her voice has resonated in my mind, and my own thoughts sound like her voice. She's just so damn right about most things.

Maria and I went to a little town called Clevedon, near Weston-Super-Mare, to see her sister. We bought sweets (I bought an awesome milkshake), we went the charity shops, we went to a little boutique and I got some new shoes, bag, scarf and necklace, and the sisters got to spend some good time together. Then we drove down to the beach and had a walk on the cliffs and on the rocks, and picked stones. I brought a couple back with me and added them to the plate I have in my room, which consists of: the buddha-shaped incense holder; a shell I picked off Brighton beach which is slightly imperfect, and reminded me of me; stones Milli and I picked at Dunwich beach; stones Maria picked off Thorpeness beach; a few stones I found in my bad after Dukie and Ben weighed my bag down with them on Covehithe beach; a marble from when I was a kid; a couple random things I've forgotten over the years but have added to the plate because they look like they'd belong there. This little plate sits on my windowsill, near my candle, and I never burn my incense anymore because the dust and crap goes all over the white windowsill and Mum tuts a lot, but I like to see them and remember what that plate represents to me. Little chunks of beaches, of marine life, a shell and a bit of slate - it's the world, pressed and changed over time, where I have been, on one plate. It's my version of the world so far, and I can make it what I want, I can add stuff, take stuff away, throw the whole thing away, buy a bigger plate to transfer it to - it is all under my control, I just need to decide what to do with it.

I'm having a lot of trouble with decisions at the moment.

I don't know what I want at all, and I wish I could answer just a couple of the questions in my head, but so far its pretty blank up there.

Do I want a relationship, or do I just like the idea of one? Do I want to leave Norfolk, or do I just want to leave home? Do I want to pursue my dream, or do I want to find a stable job for a while? Would I rather live here unhappy but relatively at ease with having no money, or do I want to move out, be happy, but be broke / even more in debt and panicking about it?

What is actually important to me at the moment, and what could I live without?

Who is important enough to hold on to, and who could I live without / away from?


I have an essay due in two days. Once thats in and done, its dissertation-station. Nothing but that for the next 123 days (four months).

I'm shitting myself a little bit. Here's hoping I can answer those questions and pull through at the last minute.

My Car and I

We're off on an adventure tonight.

At about quarter to ten this evening, I'll set off, heading for Stansted Airport, where I will be picking up a Maz-shaped person.

We will drive to Bristol, eating chocolate, drinking red bull, maybe even real food will be consumed.

Maybe have a drink in Bristol before heading to the hostel.

Tomorrow morning bright and early will we shimmy down to Weston-Super-Mare to see her half-sister for breakfast / brunch.

We will then drive from WSM to Torquay, Devon. I don't know which parent she's heading to first, but will we no doubt get a bit of lunch or something, and then I will bid farewell to one of my best friends, and set off without her, heading east for Southampton.

Probably early evening time I will arrive, park up at the Travelodge, shower and change, and then go find my boys. Specifically Coates, Will, Al, maybe Macina, and Sophie. And I will buy Coates a birthday drink, and merriment will be had, and if all else fails, Sophie and I will be drinking on a park bench.

Then Thursday morning, we breakfast, probably in Frankie and Bennys. Maybe have a cheeky cocktail too! And maybe even stay long enough to visit the Cowherds. And then I journey back to Norfolk to make it to Norwich for my 7pm shift at the Rumsey.


And that, my friends, is how me and the yaz roll. Just bouncing from place to place, enjoying the smiles and the sunshine.

So I'll see you on the other side!

If Music Be the Food of Love, Play On.

Music is in my head all day long. Every car journey I take, I surround myself with my music. Sometimes my dreams have soundtracks, or just one song, which plays in my head as I dream. So over the years, I have associated certain songs with certain people. Not just like 'this one time I was listening to this song and thought of this person so now I call it 'our song'' - no no. These are songs that always, no matter what the situation, make me think of that person. And they always will, because the association can never be broken, only replaced by a stronger association. And so, another list begins:

Evanescence - My Immortal: Helen. She played in non stop one christmas holiday. I also can't hear Viva La Vida because she overplayed that too. Thanks.

Backstreet Boys - Poster Girl: Charlie. When we were in California/Nevada, on greyhounds for hours, and she told me that the few albums I'd put on her tiny pink iPod mini was all she had to listen to, but she really liked the new BSB album. I was so happy, and it reminds me of the sunshine on the West Coast now.

Robbie Williams - Feel: James. Such a cool dude, he loves the Robbie. I love him for that.

System of a Down - Chop Suey / BYOB / Cigaro: Sam. Just us drunkenly singing. Our car trips, our late night shenanigans. Also, Thnks Fr Th Mmrs by Fall Out Boy, and a couple MCR songs always remind me of our youth.

(on that note) Fall Out Boy - Sugar We're Going Down: Kristy. I think we sang it every day for a month. And then the rest of the class heard it, and we were like 'bitch please that is so last month'. LOL.

(thinking about it, not many other songs directly remind of people from school. weird.)

Feeder - High: Barnaby. His favourite song, I'd always listen to it on my way to see him. Makes me think of the warm summer evenings, my moped, the 580 bus, and his dog Jasper.

Rhianna - Umbrella: Shane. Sounds weird, but because they did a cover of the song, and it was one of the best five minutes of all time: the heavens opened, poured, and I just smiled up at him and his best mates on stage. 

Fratellis - Chelsea Dagger / Biffy Clyro - Mountains / The Killers - Mr Brightside: Ben. Also, slightly weirdly, some songs from the high school musical films (we watched them together a lot). Also, any other killers or fratellis song. Also, I still get a little lump in my throat when I'm caught off-guard by these songs. 

30 Seconds to Mars - From Yesterday / Puddle of Mudd - She Hates Me / The Darkness - I Believe in a Thing Called Love / Limp Bizkit - Rollin': Matt. For the karaoke, obviously, and with From Yesterday, I don't entirely know why. I think it's his favourite 30stm song? But either way, always makes me think of him, every single time.

Death Cab for Cutie - Follow Me into the Dark (/any song) / Charlie Simpson - All At Once: Martin. Oh, and 'I've got five on it', whoever that's by. Makes me smile when I hear them. I guess that's a good thing? Also the Dawson's Creek themes (yes, both of them). 

The Proclaimers - I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles): Al. Big Gay Al. Also 'are you gonna be my girl', and bloodhound gang - bad touch. Worrying that I hear that song and think of him, right?

Take That - Shine: Coates. 

(Most of these are influenced by karaoke, yes, but we did go every week for like two year, or something absurd. I heard the same songs being sang by the same boys A LOT.)

Kenny Loggins - Footloose / the 'what a feeling' song from flashdance / Rick Astley - Never Gonna Give You Up / Micheal Jackson - Thriller / Billie Jean / etc: Reflex nights. So much hilarious dancing. Filming Macina dancing to Jacko. Me, Sophie and Joanne pelting across the dancefloor when footloose came on. The limbo game. The tacky dancers. Oh, it all comes screaming back, and I love it. Also, memories of necking vodka red bull and/or jaeger bombs. Yum.

David Bowie - Life on Mars (+Ashes to Ashes) / A-Ha - Take On Me / Ultravox - Vienna / Black Eyed Peas - Boom Boom Pow: Sophie. Also, the theme to Jonathan Creek. Driving to Bournemouth, BEP's was the big summer song, and was possibly in our heads all day? Either way, always brings back memories.

That song by Delilah / That dubstep track with the dirty drop / SO MANY SONGS: Maria. So much music was heard from her room over the years, it's hard to think of each song, but whenever I hear those random songs she'd play at full blast first thing, when I'd be casually sitting in the living room eating breakfast, or when we'd tidy the burlington flat, or just any time, I just remember smells and colours, happiness and love. It's so strange, as its not really a specific memory, but it is my memory working in the weirdest way. And I love it. No matter how far apart we are, I can hear those songs and remember so much good stuff, and it cheers me up. I guess thats how friendships could survive before skype was invented! Either way, more so than anyone else, she's got ownership over so many songs in my memory.

Despite having been hanging out together for all our lives, there's not one song I can think of that reminds me of Howarth. How bizarre.

Music is such a strong tool, and I hope that whenever people are reminded of me when they listen to songs, its good things that they remember, not my awful singing.

Gnarls Barkley

A definition of craziness is repeating the same act multiple times but hoping for a different result.


...



So, I'm a crazy person.



But hey, most of you already knew that. I can't imagine anyone is shocked. And there is definitely no sympathy. If anything a bit of envy, as some of the best writers in history have been known to suffer from mental instability or illness.


I just hope I don't go the same way as Zelda Fitzgerald or Sylvia Plath.

The Oncoming Train

Have I died?


Is this my life, or someone else's? And if it is 'mine', do I control it, or just live within it?


Are the people I once knew the same people, or are they becoming lost from their former selves too? Will we all recognise each other in years to come, or will we all be so estranged from the people we were when we were friends that the recognition is only skin deep?


Can any one hear my screaming?


I want out. I want out of whatever I've put myself into. And every time the woman from the 'anxiety and depression NHS clinic' calls and asks the mandatory questions about if I want to die, have considered dying or am trying to hurt myself in any way, I have to laugh at her. No, I don't want to die, I want to fucking LIVE, and I can't. I'm stuck in this existence without the joy of living, feeling, breathing, laughing and hoping.


I want my life to be back on track. Why did I ever decide to do a masters? Why did I ever decide to move home?


If I had the money, I'd have gone already. But I'm more broke than ever before.



For once, I can tell my ex that yeah, he has a point - money does lead to happiness - only because right now, money would make me happy. In every other situation he's still a douche for saying that no one is happy without money.


Here's hoping he's as miserable as I am, yet with a bank full of dollar.

Who I am, 2013

Reading my ex-boyfriend's newly updated blog with official domain name and whatnot (its very swish) got me thinking about personality and our views of ourselves. I could never write something about myself without being in some way 'down' about something: a mixture between my need to write the truth, and my overly critical and insecure nature. But I want to give it a go; try to write an adequate description of myself, how I see me, at this moment in my life.

PHYSICALLY

I'm 5'4" / 5'5" (not entirely sure), which translates roughly as being extremely average height. The only people shorter than me are children, my mother (and aunts) and Chamaale. Most are taller, but not so much that I've ever struggled / been annoyed with my own height. My shape is described as 'pear' by all those magazine dicks, which means I'm fattest in the middle ie. bum and hips and thighs. I've got exceedingly average boobs, 34 B, again the most bog-standard shape / size for a white British girl. My hair is naturally a dirty blonde, so dirty it barely looks like a colour. If you ever try painting a picture, my hair is the colour that the edge of the white paint goes, where you've been adding every other colour to it to make slightly light versions, and they've all blurred into one browney yellowish blur. So I dye my hair, currently it's got two colours of blonde through the tops, and it's growing out very slowly, so it's still neck-length. I have a few moles which are kind of big and ugly - one on the top of my belly, the size of a big pea, and a few other slightly raised ones. I've got a skin-tag thing on the back of my neck which people tell me is easy to remove but because I can't see it, I'm not bothered about removing it. My teeth are whiter than they should be, but not Hollywood-smile white. My eyes are hazel, with bits of dark brown, bits of green, a tiny bit of yellowy gold, and black spots. I have a stigmatism, so I need glasses for reading, but am otherwise fine for driving and whatnot. My eyebrows can't decide if they are blonde or brown, so I constantly have to tweak, darken and trim. Big ears, pierced, one with the piercing on a mole. My nose is not worth comment - I have nothing to say about it, its very average, and the same goes for my mouth. I have something up with my shoulders which means I can't wear boob-tubes / shoulderless dresses without looking proper beefy, so I avoid those clothes now. I get dry skin on my elbows and it really pisses me off. My fingers are short and fat, 'porky digits' like my Dad has, and my nails never get long, never have colour and are seldom looked after at all. My belly-button is half an inny half an outy - its like a malteaser stuck in a hole. My belly is fat, always has been, and sometimes when my IBS is playing up, I can puff out and look 6 months pregnant. True story. I'm a size 14 in the big places, size 12 in the smaller places, which means clothes usually look too big for me as the size 14 clothes are always way too long (particularly jeans). I have size 5 feet, again very average, my big toes both have ingrowing toe nails, have done since I was about 8, and if I wear shoes too tight for my toes they push together and inflame and puss. Its gross. I used to have a birth mark on my right foot and when I was about 17 it just disappeared and I don't know why or how. I have a few scars at the moment - one on the top of my right thigh from cooking swordfish in oil and the oil spitting (I was wearing tights); a couple marks on my knees from little scrapes and cuts over the years; a faint scar on the inside of my left wrist/arm, and my little scars on my face from picking spots. Oh yeah, I have oily skin, loads of black heads, and am so pale most of the time but when the sun comes out I burn like a lobster and get freckles. I also bruise like a peach. In fact, more than a peach - like a banana. Sometimes I don't even remember getting hurt and I'll have a big blue mark. I don't like my figure, I find myself getting angry when I try to dress myself, as I can never feel happy with how I look - I wish I looked nicer. Medically, I have a few problems, but nothing major. Like I said, I've got IBS, it's mainly triggered by wheat and stress, but other things may set it off too. I'm allergic to the morning-after pill. I'm on the contraceptive pill Ovranette for no real reason except to regulate my periods (or just avoid them altogether). I forget to be a girl sometimes, and after a week will realise that my legs and armpits are hairy as jungles. However, my skin is delicate so if I use an old / rusty / snagged razor, my skin becomes very irritable and can sometimes have those little red spots which get really sore. I also can't use certain deodorants because they irritate my skin.


GENETICALLY

Youngest of four, I am the 'spoilt' one according to my sisters, although I beg to differ half the time. I look a lot like both my sisters, less like my brother. I've got my mum's ginger gene in my skin, my hair and my freckles. I'm taller than Mum, and Dad isn't exactly tall, so thats an either/or. I'm angry and passionate like my Dad, and I'm organised and level-headed like my Mum. I've got my aunt's love of baking, and a sense of humour closer to my uncle's than the rest of my family. I've got my Mum's walk, laugh / snort, tendency to snore (when drunk) and lack of control of volume. We've all got our Dad's dark eyes, and he's also responsible for passing on the acne-gene (thanks again Pa). There is twins in my mum's family, and skipped her generation, I actually hope I have that in me too. Oh, and I'm naturally immune so didn't need the BCG jab, which Dad reckons is his doing. I'm not sure which blood group I am, but I think its the same as my Mum, and I think all four of us kids are the same. I think.


MENTALITY

Some times I can catch myself doing something, and wonder 'is this me?' but then that wonder spirals into my questioning that question, because surely whatever you do, whether random or structured or forced to do so, is done by you and therefore can only be defined as 'you', because the only way it wouldn't be you, is if someone else were doing it. I think too much, I talk too fast, and if you get my chatting you'll never shut me up. I'm self-aware and nervous around new people and scary people. I jitter my leg all the time, for no consistent reason. I never think before I speak, and therefore make silly mistakes with mixing up words, or make social faux-pas and go bright red from embarrassment. I'm good at remembering certain things, like lists, if I give myself an order - the best way of remembering all 50 states without forgetting 1 is by remembering how many there are of which letters ie. a =5, c=2, d=1, f=1, g=1, h=1, i=4, k=2, l=1, m=8, n=8, o=3, p=1, r=1, s=2, t=2, u=1, v=2, w=4. I can remember that pattern, so can recall all 50 easily. This helps when I'm serving customers as I look at their face and remember how many people are eating / drinking, and the sight of their face reminds me what they asked for because I repeat it back. I don't know how my memory works, but it does, and I love it. I like to teach myself things because I don't think I'm clever enough / well-learned enough to be as old and 'educated' as I am. I have lists and lists of everything. I have to make lists to feel organised. I also have to clean - I hate seeing messes, they drive me insane. Sometimes, when I'm trying to sort my life out, I need to go find a mess to clean up to feel better. Having lived in this house for 11 months now, there is little left to sort, so I like to go to Ben's house and clean up his room, as it is guaranteed to always be messy. I like reading but it sends me to sleep. I have watched to few films in the last year I could probably recount them all in five minutes, because there can't be more than 10. I'm more into TV than film, because I love the character development, and I will easily cry at most things. I cried at the Big Bang Theory the other day. I love dogs and wish I had one, and I love all animals in general because since I was a kid I've always believed that there is a communication I can have with them which no one else understands but us. I keep having dreams about getting married and having babies, which is awkward as I've never been more single than I am right now. I like talking to myself. I love singing, but I know I can't hold a tune at all so get very nervous about singing near other people, unless I'm on a burger van, in which case I just don't give a damn. I'm bossy and strict when I have to be, and I can lead a team and keep people going through hellish shifts on burger vans and bars. I also really enjoy working for other people where I don't have to be responsible and leadery - washing up for five hours is so easy and mundane, or pulling pints endlessly, or cleaning call centres. With the exception to this morning, as I overslept and missed work, I am a hard worker and I get competitive and like to be the best. I'm still chuffed today that I was literally the best in my class at uni - knowing how hard all my friends worked does make me wish they could share in my joy of excelling, but its still a great feeling to be told that you alone achieved that greatness. Recently I've realised how wrong my old lecturer was - I am not academic, I just get my teeth into things, and projects excite me much more than essays. I love baking, cooking my own food, the satisfaction of getting shit done and having a tidy home, clean nice smelling clothes, organised drawers and neatly stacked things. I miss the Sims, and wish I could play it today. I'm so easily hooked by things, be it a TV show, computer game, best friend, boyfriend, boy that I wish was my boyfriend, new favourite jumper, blueberry muffins, or the eternal joy of sleeping and dreaming. I remember dreams so well that it scares me and I wonder if there is something wrong with my brain. I think at the moment that I'm working myself too hard, but the minute I stop, I look around and I feel so shit and I don't want to start again. I think I'm depressed and I need to get out of this house, and I've been reflecting on this year and what it's all been worth, because so far it doesn't feel worth it.


PEOPLE

I don't want to remember these last 11 months. I hope they fall away into a hole in my brain. My lists remember them, though, and I have seen a few additions to various lists since I came home last April.

12, 13, 14 and 15 are all not really worth mentioning. I don't know if I even want to count 14, as it wasn't actual sex, but I guess if 1 counts, I may as well count this too. 12 was just a brief fancy, a rebound thing, and I realised how fucking crazy and confusing and annoying he was, and it all fell spectacularly into the ocean. 13 was a one night thing, a notch in the bedpost, and if I ever want to go for a drink at the Locks I forget that I have to see him, but its not that bad. 15 I'll never see again, was a one night stand in devon which was very ridiculous and I don't entirely know why I did it but evidently I did. and 14, like I said, I don't know if I should count it, because it was a girl, and there was no actual sex.

My masters has so far cost me £4350 and I have a 63 average. I haven't done as well as I know I could have, but I don't think I can turn back the clocks and re-do the worst essays. I don't know if I would want to, at this stage in the game. As much as I'd love to get a first for my masters, I don't have the energy or motivation to do so.

I've made some new friends, and gotten closer to some old friends. There's Jasmine, who is no longer Ben's girlfriend, but still my friend, much to Ben's annoyance. Then Jas' family, who are all lovely, and will always have a sofa for me if I need it. The people at uni are good people, but I haven't got to know them that well, and I don't know how much they are 'friends for life', in the same way that I knew, when finishing solent, who I would keep in contact with. There's Miriam, Fran, Anne, Zoe and Moe, Cindy and Erin, and the other Asian girls who are all lovely. There's Tom and Ben, who are good people to debate with in class, but we will all go our separate ways. I will still have them on facebook, but that will probably be it. The guys at the pub are all great to chat with, and easy to get along with - Nick and Thom, Lydia and Katy. Thom's now leaving, which is a shame, as its fun to chat to a guy about Glee every week. Also chat with the daily local guy Adas, who gives me tips on baking, and the chef Finn, who used to work for my parents (small world, is Norfolk). At Aviva, I've gotten to know Penny really well, and its lovely having someone to have a laugh with every morning, and Justin is a great guy too, but probably wouldn't join in on our ridiculous games. The people I clean for are all interesting and kind in their own ways too: Paul is a very simple and kind person, and I imagine when Will Sale is older, will be just like him. Su is a nice lady, and her kids are pretty funny, if very loud and ridiculous. Pram, Vaughn and the kids I used to clean for were very interesting and engaging too.

Most of my year (11 months) has been spent with Ben. I got close to Henry, and his friends Dan and Chris, but now will only really speak to Dan. I've also got to know Dan's sister Becky a bit, as well as Ben's cousin Isobel, who I've always known, but never really got to know, you know? And the locks kids, Steph and Chris, still hang around sometimes. And Jasmine's cousin Henry has recently been drinking with us more. And Arthur's come back into the county recently, and Ed is still around, and Luke and Dukie and Jack, and I met Jack's girlfriend the other day and she seems really nice (and looks loads like Anna from The O.C.). Oh, and we have a few new staff members who are nice, like Tom (although he's very quiet), and Sarah, and Debbie.

I say all this because all these people around me on a regular basis are not changing anything about the way I feel. I think I need counselling, because my head is such a mess at the moment, and I hate messes. And above all other things, the one thing confusing me most at this moment is just why I'm doing all this. Why do I have five jobs? To pay for my masters. Why am I doing a masters? To get a good job. I can't do well in masters whilst working five jobs, I literally don't have the time or energy or motivation or desire to stay up all night. I have been on and off ill for three weeks now, and it's messing with my head. I don't want to be in Norfolk, but I have absolutely no way out. And I'm just going round in circles, hating every thought I have, wishing I could just go to sleep and it would all go away and I could wait until next month to deal with all of this.


I'm so stuck. And I feel so miserable all of the time and I hate it. I wish I could feel happier. I wish I could smile and cheer up the world, instead of bringing it down with me. But I'm stuck.