I wonder what other people do when they feel like this? I am always compelled to blog. But other people aren't. Surely I can't be the only person in the world to ever feel like this? No, just the only person I know strange enough in the head to brag about it. Brag about these moments of melancholy.
I'm calmer now. I sat down in the corner of my room for a while, thinking and wallowing and being awful. By all means, enquire about the details. I would just love someone to talk to, without having to ask their permission.
I've eaten chocolate and drank milk. I've moved onto my bed and turned on the telly and grown bored of Coronation Street after fifteen minutes. I'm compelled to blog.
I want someone new and neutral and understanding to talk to. To tell them everything. I'm forever indulging in telling people my life story but I forget to include the fact that I am a miserable bitch with more problems than brain cells. And as ambitious and deluded as they come.
Why does everything have to be so shit? Last night was so strange. I miss everything.