my life is punctuated with agonising moments of awkwardness and sheer stupidity. ugh how on earth arggghh at this rate there is hardly any hope for my future

the year took off with a lurching dip, and a crash - chocolate has not tasted the same since (such mellow melodrama)

but, the default mood: tipping backwards into a magnetic vacuum.

couldn’t sleep. watched Sherlock.

finishing off left-over mince pies as I wait for the new year.

I cannot have everything I want.

today I saw a brooding swarm of eagles, heading back to their nests as night approached

The Christmas holiday so far: jet lag = waking up at all ungodly hours = sleepy eyes = deadpan stare, camomile tea, sashimi indulgence, Mechanics past papers, lots of TV

life is boring but life is good

what if the big ‘what if’ materialises

I shall tell you now: I shall hide myself away and burrow in sorrow. can’t bear the thought. there is only so much breakage that can be mended, and chipped hearts, like glass, cut — which calls for sturdier armour, but already I am so weary, weary with Detachment — it is a chant in my head, a clamp across my head

Four steps toward stoicism — swap coffee for camomile, swear liberally, smile sparingly, speak in a monotone

Things I never get around to doing in the summer

1. Go on an adventure - take the ferry to one of those islands

2. Take polaroid portraits of all the important people (I never dare lest they should realise how important they are)

3. Have a seafood feast

4. Bake pretty cakes

5. Practise the piano (pure agony)







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