All the plans I have involve money and having money and spending money. Either I am very material, or we are living in a material world.
I have a wishlist. But it's a very budget-y kind of wishlist. I don't want designer. By no means. I want plain glasses for fivety-nine yo-yos. And I'd go lower if I could. I also want a very cheap, basic phone as my one is on the brink. Like us all. Ugh.
On YouTube... Fred is hilarious. He's the most subscribed. He's such a freak but rather addictive.
Need a job. Why do I keep saying that and doing nothing about it? I probably deserve this poverty. Ughhhh.
On the brightside, I'm void of hangover symptoms and boys are sometimes very, very nice and I like my friends and my acquaintances and Stephen Fry and I'm even beginning to enjoy being on the Twitter bandwagon, for some reason. Life is good.
Still holding out for a real adventure though. x
Let's go camping out in the back garden. Anyone? Really. Anyone will do.
I think that the books I read last summer all had something in common: they fulfilled this need I had for reassurance, for someone else, even someone completely fictional, to feel the way I was feeling. I really think it helped. And maybe it seems a bit silly but those books really meant something to me, and always will. And I don't think I own any of them. All thieved from the library. One day I will buy my own. And even if I don't own any other books, I'll be happy enough to own those. I'm not going to relay their titles because really it's no one's business what texts got me through that summer. It's probably important to mention, though, that they weren't self help books. At all.
I don't know what started me off on that strange tangent but I'll return to the matter at hand presently: plans.
job. books. sleeping under the stars. cutting weeds. horror films. no alcoholic beverages whatsover (why, I don't know). writing. friends. adventures. relax. emo tablets.