White shores of longing stretch away...

I have had 2 hours sleep. Should not have attempted to rehearse the New World Symphony for four hours, drag myself to an exhibition, and then sit through a murder mystery with an immensely complicated plot. Could barely keep my eyes open, let alone understand the muddled melodrama. The Black Dahlia should probably be watched after plenty of caffeine and anticipation. It's sexy and racy and slightly too long. Maybe I'll watch it again when I'm in a better frame of mind. Josh Hartnett lights a few too many cigarettes though. Plus every time I look at him I think of 40 days and 40 nights. Didn't really do him any favours.

Pleased with myself for spending less than £20 this weekend though. Going to Manchester on Saturday, and starting my course on Wednesday. Seriously can't wait. If you'd asked me how I felt about optional Maths homework a year ago you would have got a slightly different response I feel.

I can't express myself at the moment. I blame the sleep deprivation. It's cruel how hours of manual farm labour has little effect on me, but dancing until 4am has broken my soul.

Might go back to bed. I'm reading Brighton Rock and it's brilliant, full of panic and madness and moral ambiguity. Oh, before I go, Writer's Block is a great song, and Banksy's latest antics are ingenius.
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