I want a reason for all this night after night after night after night

Oh dear oh dear oh dear.
I spent far too much money today.

Yesterday was a strange emotional surreal night, involving travelling to Broomfield far too late at night. I can't quite decide whether it was too good or just tragic. I did get a bed and a very cosy duvet though, despite feeling strangely melancholy this morning. Seeing people is always a relief. As is escaping from the current shambolic situation at home: stressful relatives and general panic-stricken mayhem in the lead-up to Saturday...

On the bus to Broomfield I read the last seven pages of Everything Is Illuminated. It's rather disjointed and confusing and complicated and completely threw me at times. It became incredibly engaging, but his literary techniques got overwhelming and annoying; capitalising large chunks of texts, for example, and drifting into long convoluted sentences which were difficult to read. Maybe Johnathan Safran Foer was trying a bit too hard. There were just a few too many twists and loose strings.

Apparently my new job are still waiting for a reference, so it seems I will be slacking for the next week or so. (Correction: doing exciting, constructive things like tidying my room and sorting out my life). I also have to go to the hospital on Monday. I'm scared.

I am also pleased: Climate Camp seems to have got plenty of media coverage. Drax generate more carbon dioxide than Sweden does. It's a fucking scandal. Though I'm not entirely convinced by the following sentence appearing in The Guardian's editorial: "like the Conservative party, Drax is not beyond redemption"...+_+

I love Chelmsford swimming pool, it's huge and spacious and wonderful. Outdoor pools are heaven and diving boards are a luxury. I spent half of my money for the next month on a pair of jeans which I didn't need and couldn't resist. I am dangerously weak-willed. Once again though, there's something pretty refreshing about spending money you earned on your own. Making your own atrocious decisions, doing things on a whim and getting away with it. Sure, I'll regret squandering that money soon, but for now I'm happy to sit in the park eating Marks and Spencers smoked salmon sandwiches and reading about Graham Coxon in the Guardian. I'm naive and foolish and decadent and not sensible in the slightest, but sometimes it's worth every minute.

In the swimming pool my eyeliner smudged and seeped right across my face and for a moment I had dark sparkling eyes the size of apricots.
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