Is this all I can write about? After such an absence, and days of new things at my job, and walking around Croydon looking at brand new people and their brand new ways of living, and formulating half-baked blog posts in my mind, is this seriously all I can muster up? And am I seriously falling into one of those self-reflexive blog posts again? Fuck - this doesn't cut it.
I want to write like him, like her, like anyone but me. I want to be more inspired and feel less like I'm living in a badly run Sims game. Time is so random, so precious right now. I travel 45 minutes either way to get to and from work at the moment, which means that I waste an hour and a half every day on public transport, trying hard to to let other people's lives overlap mine (or at least, their asses overlap onto my seat), which comes up to a grand total of 7 and a half hours a week of grey building grey building grey building flashing by and irritated people and crazy people and wanting to be using this time for something, anything, better.
I should start taking a book on the bus, I guess.
I'm completely devoted to the new-ish Jimmy Eat World Futures album. Polaris is on repeat and will stay there until I've ruined it for myself.
Get down on your knees
Whisper what I need
Something pretty
Something pretty
Tonight is the XFM big bash. I'm hoping it'll be fun, hoping I'll be more energised by the time 9 rolls around, hoping that I can get drunk and sleep and sleep and sleep and wake up and dust this week off.
That's better. I refuse to be such a girl and gush about puppies. I'm going to a rock concert now. Azaah!
PS My living will is that you should keep me alive for as long as possible. Feeding tubes welcome. Okay? Don't flick that switch.
This is a 
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