TODAY'S A DIARY DAY

[moogleye_76]

I have a stronger desire to get my head straight than I have to avoid pain ful situations. My parents call this mental health issues. And I call this boredom. I am sat at my parent's house, in the study with nothing to do. Sometimes I mother my mother. Two wasted gianormous pizzas, the TV's on. Pop's arriving tomorrow, though for what purpose, I do not know. Father's day? When I go back I have to tidy the flat. Getting my mind into a positive head space to sell it is important. I could do it when I was looking at that flat in Bridgwater. The flat looked positively B.e.a.u.t.i.f.u.l. I looked in the mirror today and I saw that I feel blind living underneath James. I can't even see myself when I look in the mirror most of the time. It's not easy. One thing... be constant.... please! I saw ashley today. I told him my whole life is on facebook. It was good to drop a weight off. Got to wait for him to text me *before I feel like I'm being heard*. Y'see that's the thing about the subconcious. Fear speaks first, followed by crisis. Writing and talking helps, being able to slow yourself down and prepare. He was on his way to Glastonbury festival. Last time I saw him... everyone I have sex with I fight with. I HAVE NOT ENOUGH SPACE IN MY LIFE! Anyway... Ashley...history was made when he put me in a head lock in Denmark. We weren't exactly buxom buddies after that. It's always been so stressful travelling with people. I went to see him in Cheltenham, got him kicked out of his place (accidentally) had a fight with him, took off to London on Acid. Later found out that J.P had history in Cheltenham. National Express passengers were really kind that day. No-one 'told' I was hitching a ride. In the hot hot loo. Citrine. Nothing to do at 11 o'clock at night in Cheddar. Too tired to fight, but I'm awake. Awake awake alive. There's a fucking witches broom in the corner of this carpeted room. Mum's gone to bed. Dad's locking up. spect I'll find him in there still sleeping soon. Yep! A cough. Write a poem. Try to not to cement up my depression with consumerism. Post out.