Love me please

Sandwich Saturday

Today was exciting. I cooked quesadillas, and burned them horribly. Like the absolute fool I am I forced them down anyway, and it was probably the worst thing ever. I compensated by baking my first rainbow cake! Which was not as vividly coloured as I think it's meant to be, but it's still blue, and purple, and pink, and orange, and yellow, and it's cake, so overall, success! 

Fucksake. Everyone in the Leaver household is so useless.

I AM MEANT TO BE WRITING A FIFTY THOUSAND WORD NOVEL NEXT MONTH. KINDLY TELL ME HOW I'M MEANT TO ACHIEVE ANYTHING OF THE SORT WITH NO COMPUTING DEVICE ON WHICH TO TYPE.

First world problems. I'm such a fucking brat. More than anyone else, I make myself sick.

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Something I've come to realise, is that the only person you should trust is yourself, because you know to not give yourself unnecessary shit/guilt trips/hard work when you know you don't need it, where other people are too dense to notice that you're right at the end of your givingashitaboutanything measure.

Ha, ha, bollocks to everything but the first bit. Everyone I know gives themselves way more shit/guilt/work than they need and most are incredibly perceptive, which is reason 9647328193 why everyone else in the world is good and I'm gradually paving my way to losers' hell, reserved for the likes of the fucking pussywhip Claudius and the fucking epitomeofeverythingfeminismstrivestoavoid Hero from Much Afuckingdo About Nothing. (Bad move, Shakespeare.)

But seriously, numero uno and all that. Only way to get anywhere, it seems.

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I swear, caring uses up so much energy. Care workers, vicars, Ghandi - how the ever-living fuck do they do it? I struggle to remember to feed myself, how can I ever be expected to take responsibility for someone who actually matters? How do people remember so much stuff? Birthdays and bed times and how to cook vegetable lasagne and what makes your boyfriend uncomfortable - it's all so incredibly irrelevant, according to my selfish little mind! I want to care! I want to remember! I want to go ten minutes without a major incident! I try, I really do, but sometimes, like now, it seems more effort than it's worth. Complete isolation isn't all bad.

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Distractions. How very welcome, in a sick, ironic way.

Sometimes the number of pretentious bastards in this world leaves me amazed

Have you seen New Girl? My brother made me watch the first episode a few days ago, and I'm like, what have I been missing?! I love it! Watching eight episodes in immediate succession is nothing to be ashamed of!

Saturday, yesterday, was a day of firsts. First tragus piercing. (Which hurt so much less than I thought it was going to, even if the size of the needle did initially freak me out.) First time gin failed to leave me hammered on the floor in a gibbering mess. First time vodka succeeded. First time taking control in successfully putting up a tent.

I found this note to myself that I wrote sometime last night:

Which was considerate of me, I guess.

I miss people. Is it just me, or is everyone completely busy and huffy and preoccupied right now? Maybe I'm the same and just not seeing it.

Still. Nothing you can do. Off to watch Fiddler on the Roof, because I'm a good Jewish* kid. Seeya.

* Not actually.

Why Thinking Is Bad:

The more I think, the more pissed off I get, and the more I rationalise that I have enough friends to not have to put up with one of them being a prick.

Oh, well.

It's not like much that happens now really matters anyway. I'm okay, I'm okay.

Provided I don't chicken out, come Saturday my tragus is going to have a piece of metal gored through the middle of it. Yay, stabbings.

I have found a person in existence whom I simultaneously want and want to be, and I hope she's happy being my screensaver:

'Christ said, "The Kingdom of Heaven is within you." And the Indians say that and the Zen people say that. We're all God. I'm not a god or the God, but we're all God and we're all potentially divine — and potentially evil. We all have everything within us and the Kingdom of Heaven is nigh and within us, and if you look hard enough you'll see it.'

   - John Lennon

Late night blogging

There's something special about nighttime. It's cold and dark outside, but in my room it's cosy and brightly lit and warm and I can totally do whatever the hell I want, provided it's done in complete silence so as not to wake the rest of the household, but that still leaves a pretty wide scope for Stuff To Do At Night.

A concise list:

1. Read;
2. Watch a film with earphones in;
3. Listen to calming music;
4. Read 50 Shades of Grey;
5. Watch the entire first series of Doctor Who with earphones in (that was a good night);
6. Write sleepypoetry (poetry characterised by a sleepy poet prone to falling asleep mid-sentence, resulting in a half-finished scrawl of unintelligible inky metaphors that make sense only to a tired brain);
7. Read NC-17 gay fanfiction (each to their own);
8. Flick through old photo albums and get stoned with nostalgia;
9. Watch gay porn, definitely with earphones in;
10. Snack;
11. Think about the future and cry;
12. Revise (lol, jk);
13. Have after-hours Skype conversations with someone awesome/special;
14. Have the idea to write a list but have no intelligent ideas so end up coming up with the first things that come to mind, no matter how irrelevant they are.

That's all, folks, I need to crash.

G'night!

Tralala

I spent the weekend in Kent, with my lovely family, for a twenties-themed murder mystery birthday party. 

I think we look hot.

School is difficult. I'm giving myself more work than I'm told to do because a small part of me is still convinced that nerding it up will make a difference when it really results in no spare time at all and the same average grades I'm resigned to.
CBT is going well, even if it is throwing up more questions than answers right now. The shrink asks what I think will happen if I'm contaminated and prevented from washing my hands, and it's frustrating to have no idea. It's happening in my head, how can I not know?
I'm... exhausted. In every sense of the word. Not sleeping enough, probably not eating enough (even though I don't want to because I'm not fucking hungry), getting myself down about the scribbled mess in my head I'm left trying to decipher, not working as hard as I should be, freaking out about the shambles that my attempt to sort my fucking life out has become LALALALA don't want to hear it.
Something I've discovered recently is what it's like to be on the receiving end of someone asking if you're okay without having to say anything.