Right now, I feel like anybody but myself. It doesn’t help I just woke up. The grogginess combined with general confusion makes it feel like a physical ailment. My desire to do a visual arts course has become tainted, just like I said it wouldn’t. The problem is I simply want to do so many things. I want to be a psychologist, a social worker, a journalist (don’t tell my mother), an art teacher, an artist, a vet nurse, a florist, a park ranger, and the list will always go on. These are all the ‘proper j0b’ in comparison to my creative writing which I hope will eventually get me published. But is that a bad way to think of it? Or a childish way? In a way I feel childish 24/7.

I need to stop whining and get writing. Also find a new job. The inevitable chop didn’t happen but I have not yet met with the woman who fucking despises me, so we’ll see. I’ll let you know if I cry when she shouts at me. Hilarious.

My bones just cracked and they sounded as if they were pearly in consistency.

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