On a night that rises and clears / In a sky that's clouded by fears

[Kirchner, 'Marcella' 1910]

The days are slipping by unnoticed now, and I'm worried I'll wake up from a troubled sleep sometime and realise just what I've wasted and the mediocre, regrettable way I've been spending my long summer weeks. Sleeping, watching films, eating and drinking too much. Wasting away. Subconsciously caging myself up. Perhaps getting a double bed was a bad idea. Perhaps moving the TV from the cellar into my room while my parents were on holiday was stupid: it's always too tempting and far too distracting.

Yesterday's party was actually pretty magnificent. Despite being in Upminster and costing me money I don't have. I can't complain (at all) because the fruit punch was free and the company was excellent. Also I'm not too shattered today somehow. I drowsily dragged myself off Michael's sofa at 6 having had about 2 hours' sleep, walked past a million pebbledashed houses to the station and somehow stumbled onto the right train. Got back at 7, fell into bed and slept until 3 when I listened to the rolls of thunder outside all afternoon and watched The Sound of Music. In bed. Now I'm sleepy and bleary and hungry and still wearing yesterday's eyeliner. Maybe I'll go back to bed. It's nearly time for Hollyoaks.

When did I become like this?
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She doesn't want to stay in bed...

'cos it's changed from something comfortable, to something else instead.

[Edward Hopper, 'Hotel Room' 1931]

Sometimes it's wonderful to do nothing. Well not quite nothing. I've joined the swimming pool, so I swim everyday. And yesterday I got on the Hammersmith & City line for what seemed like years to go and see The Rifles with Katrina and Louise, which was pretty damn good. The support bands were awesome: The On-Offs and Good Shoes (I think), and Bush Hall is a pretty good venue, kinda eerie in the blue light and cigarette smoke but with amazing chandaliers and fancy ceilings. Walked home in the rain, drinking Pepsi, completely exhausted.

Apart from that I've been mainly sleeping and gradually moving things into my new room. The walls are bare now, it's really horrible as part of the reason I put so many pictures up was to hide the nasty beige wallpaper and the jagged cracks in the walls. This house genuinely is falling down. Subsidence, or whatever the insurance company called it. But that was three years ago and nothing has been done and every day the walls are crumbling, inch by inch.

The Kooks have done a cover of Crazy by Gnarls Barkley. Everyone should download this track. It's fucking sensational.

I really need to get a job. Most importantly to pay for food and going out and travelling, but also to buy all the good albums out at the moment (The Raconteurs, DPT, The Feeling...), to save money for next year and to get out of the house every day. I don't want to become a slacker, but tragically it's the easiest thing in the world.

I wish it would stop raining.
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Semi-naked in somebody else's room....

I'm moving rooms. I feel strangely emotional about it. I've spent the last five years making that room my own. I'm taking all the pictures down and cleaning everything out. It represents a new stage in my life. A frightening stage.

My brother's digital camera is weird. It is very light sensitive and has no flash, so you can only take pictures in daylight. You end up with sheets of luminous white light and blurry shadows and silhouettes. Sometimes this is very beautiful.

My old room:

My new room:
The cat never seems to leave the new room, so for the time being I have a roomie.

I have found a purple blazer to wear to this party tonight. I haven't worn a purple blazer in two years. It gives me the shivers.

Exams are over, school is over, childhood is over. My life in the *real world* has begun. I'm not impressed. Jobhunting is tedious. The hours stretch into meaningless days. It has rained all week.

Got up at the crack of dawn (7am) to go swimming. I'm a member now, thanks to my dad's credit card. Walked home from East Ham in the rain without a coat, and with red stinging eyes and wet hair. I'm still a child.
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There's no method in my madness.

An amazon review of 'The Grass is Singing':
"I was in prison for 15 years and this was the only book I had!"

Jesus, I feel sorry for you. It's a completely draining, harrowing book to read, about an annoying, insecure woman, who engenders no sympathy at all. Well written, morally convincing, but utterly dismal. I'd feel happier uprooting nettles with my gloveless fingers than reading this again.

Robin Wales is back. The Tories are back. Cameron's going to win the next election. It rained cats and dogs all afternoon after two days of summer. There's nothing to eat, and I'm going to fail the IB. Is there any hope in this world?

"Depression is the inability to construct a future"
- Rollo May
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