Is it or is it not 5.30 in the morning? (it is)
And it is cold? (so cold the rosary beads I've been wearing all night are too cold to have against my skin)
I need a cup of tea
(and when I have made myself a cup of tea I will edit this into a journal entry)
On my first day of work on Monday a tray of fish fell from the fridge onto my toe, leaving me standing in an avalance of cod. On Tuesday I limped.
Horsemeat disco was shit; which was a pain in the arse because I'm sure I've been to stuff dj-ed by them before and it's been good.
Still, ok for a Sunday night except we went on to Soho afterwards and everything was shut (because it's a Sunday night). Typical. Ta very much, Jesus.
Oh dear, I appear to be rather trashed and I'm home already and it's only half one.
What's the bridge by Charing Cross/ Embankment?
I crossed it, hands to the rail, one foot in front of the other, resolutely. Thought of last weeks prayer- God never let the Thames be pitch black, let me live surrounded by street lamps. Amen.
No details today, just commentary. I've been so busy, but I'll tell you about that another time or else I'll never write at all. Dear Diary, today I went to... and I wore... and it was...
I mean to write a real journal but I'm too behind with my life. It's like posting dispatches.
Yesterday, ashamed of myself to be waking up at noon (again) and not even to have been out anywhere good the night before- just the student union and no-one was there so we left at 1.00am- someone knocks insistently at the door.
I'm happy. I'm in London. I'm young, young, young. I have beautiful clothes and beautiful books. Give it time, give it time and things will be ok.
My housemates are kicking me out.
Legally of course they can't do this, but they want me to leave.
The day we finally get internet.
What I need is love and affection.
Right then. Fateful Saturday (not yesterday the week before, the one I didn't want to write about). Texted this girl off my course, D, to see if she wanted to go for a drink. Went round her flat, met her flatmates, drank some vodka and then...
I don't remember it.
I feel very lonely. I hate my housemates. I hate them the loathsome people, except when I don't and that's as bad because they still don't talk to me. Oh and I'm so awkward. I couldn't feel more awkward.
Thanks lovelies (even the ones who were cruel). I'd reply to you all but I'm still computerless writing this in the library between lectures looking over my shoulder.
"So" says my mother, "Were you brave enough to join the LGBT society?"
Mother, you have birthed a coward. I say. I haven't moved out yet, problems with the idiot estate agents. Although by convention the 'idiot' in estate agent is generally silent. Do other countries loathe estate agents too?
I saw AC and CA today for the first time in a long time. Lunch had the feeling of a last supper. I squashed my feeling of being left out when I found out they'd been out with MT, CA's fiance, the night before. I couldn't have afforded it anyway.
So I have somewhere to live (almost). And two housemates who are seemingly not psycho. And another housemate who is from Shropshire. She might be psycho, but none of us have met her. She's in Shropshire.
Now I just have to work out how I'm going to afford live there.
Oh god, money!
I'm going to be completely skint. I really do like money. If only I just had a little bit more of it.