The mood I'm in calls for a bit of honesty. I don't even care who reads this at this stage. I'm tired of pretending everything is fine and dandy when, deep down, it isn't. Of course it isn't. I'm a mess. A wreck. And I'm terrified. I'm not able for London, you're right. I'm not even able for Carrick. I'm falling apart at the seams, really I am. No, I'm not. I only think I am. What is wrong with me? Eugh.
Yellow. Skirt. Black shoes. Kerry Godliman. Digestive biscuits. Being oblivious. Being in love. Blonde hair. Getting ready for a film audition. Looking like I belong in ABBA. Planning things that should never, ever cross my mind. Smart. My brother. My sister. Aisling. I need new music. Laptop. South Park. Being asleep. Vodka. Dancing to every song under the sun. Laughing. Pears. Not crying. Eugh.