Lost in coffee rings and fingerprints.

I'm all mixed-up tonight. Exhausted, restless, headachy. A little too thoughtful, lost in the clouds. Went to Starbucks with Sarah, and I've eaten enough calories for a week.

I keep wondering when I'll change and get a better job and move on and study and get somewhere, but there's nothing I want to do at the moment, I've reached a standstill, or a plateau, or something. My parents hate me earning my own money. They say they don't, but they can no longer control me financially, and that loses me any obligation to do what they say. There's no way of penalising me, because I don't want anything from them. At the same time, this infuriates them so much that they are keeping their distance, and refusing to support me next year unless I go to uni, even if I went back to college. I don't want to go to uni. This is exactly my problem. There's no one to tell me what to do now. There are no guidelines. There are no limits. I don't have a life-plan.

My floor is coated in dirty washing and last year's schoolwork. It depresses me so much I spend all my time lying on my bed resting my elbows on the windowsill, listening to music, dreaming. I have escaped tidying up for a month.

And there was Gaby's, yesterday, where the company was worth it, but the music was atrocious, and suddenly I've realised exactly why clubbing's overated. It's loud and trashy and antisocial, and, after a while, pretty fucking dull. Oh well. Louise, Liam and I know how to have fun. And when to leave...

I owe the library £20 again, all of a sudden. In the last few years I must have paid them a triple figure sum. The library system is completely twisted, and centred around making money, rather than promoting reading. There's something illogical and unnecessary about paying library fines in the first place, without the librarians' scary, superfluous ruthlessness. My books were a week late. And seeing as they don't even operate their alarm system these days, because people steal books too often for them to handle, I may just fight the system and borrow my books without declaring them. That's if I manage to find books in that place, amongst the DVDs, Playstation games and coffee machines.

And while I'm wasting space complaining, the monster (my brother) is eating me out of house and home. He ate twelve packets of crisps, all the apple juice and a whole packet of cereal in two days. He doesn't even like Special K, in fact he recently complained to my mother that it 'lacked calories'. I don't eat it for the calories, I eat it because it tastes good. And it gives me something to do besides complaining.

I stole my dad's Allen Ginsberg book yesterday. It's unusual and obscene and I haven't decided if I like it yet.
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