i am making myself in debt for books and cider.

i really like the king blues, bromheads jacket & jamie t.
i am making the best "indie scum" playlist ever.
i can't sleep.

i have no interest in it at all. i try so hard to convince myself, to be fair, rational and optimistic but i just feel dirty, disgusting, miserable, and nothing else. i don't want anything to do with you, i can't.
i really, really hate this, i can't figure out what's wrong with me. i feel so awful about how i behave. it feels as if i am the only person in the world who thinks like this: i accept it and i will stop trying to force myself to think otherwise.

i need something new.

i'm looking forward to this weekend. pay day, shopping, nice shifts, dinner on friday and town on saturday.

i feel a little bit sad today. and like, tired. even though i've had loads of sleep.

it's quite unnecessary to eat until you are in physical pain.
it's pretty disgusting really, but sometimes i literally cannot stop.

i want to, i need to, but i don't know where to begin.

i feel so queasy.
i don't think i can drink as many assorted alcopops in one night as i thought i could.

i'm having a very nice christmas.
job hunting starts tomorrow.
the wii fit is awesome.

tonight i was very happy.

14th september is my last day :)
i'm excited and relieved, but a little bit sad at the thought of it too.

i am going to live almost exclusively in an assortment of check shirts this autumn, i've decided.

that head start hypotonic shit works!

the truth is, even if i do like you a bit, i like my life as it is.
i don't want to risk it, whichever way it might go.
i can't stand worrying all the time.
i'm probably getting ahead of myself & i feel bad for judging you but i just don't want any chance of me feeling that bad again.
i kind of think i'm ungrateful & uptight though

i wish i was going to university this year.

i owe itunes about a quazillion pounds for fucking shit pop music.
i have no shame.
in abou half an hour i'll be like "why the fuck did i even want these?"

i don't know why i miss it.
i always end up regretting it.

i want a job & three dresses from topshop & new shoes & more books & a haircut & the good makeup that i've lost & a frappachino.
not even a light one. i want the proper sugary fatty concoction.
i am very, very tired this morning.

i'm making such an effort to not be bothered, but it's like you've set out to hurt her & discredit me for reasons we probably won't ever understand.
i wish i knew why you were doing this. when i hear you've been accusing me of saying these things and telling my friends this behind my back it makes me feel sick, as if i actually did do it, although i know i haven't.
where has all this nastiness come from, and why don't you have the guts to say any of it to my face?