Kiss Kiss

I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues, Elton John. Listen out for Stevie Wonder's epic harmonica solo.

My brain feels like rats have been chewing on it all night. It's fair to say that I've been better.

Party last night... I actually behaved myself, more or less. More than I have done in the past, but less than I really should. I was in bed by 1AM, like the hardcore partier I am, sleeping bag-spooning on a single bed with a girl I rarely speak to. Believe it or not, I didn't come onto her, nor her me; we just talked. In a somewhat compromising position, I admit, but it's still an improvement from the last time I was shitfaced.

There is a reason for the title of this. I've found that you can tell a lot from a kiss - and not in a pretentious, "the joining of the lips signifies to your heart the compatibility of two souls combined in an eternal dance of love" bullshit way. I mean, and I'm almost definitely stating the obvious here, a kiss clears up any preexisting confusion. Not sure whether you *like* someone or just like them? You'll find out when you make out with them. Relatively recently I found myself in a difficult position with a really good friend of mine - you know when you're so close to someone that you don't know where friendship ends and love begins? And what kind of love? And how strong it is? [Love's a bit of a bitch, now that I think about it.] Well - yeah. It became apparent very quickly that, to me, love love isn't... it just isn't. I had no idea what I wanted, but I found out what I didn't want. It was the same last night - except, I thought I knew what I wanted, but what felt so right before... If I'm honest, it was undeniably wrong last night. I feel like crap. I'm not sure how much of that is actual guilt or whether I'm just hungover, but, unbelievably, it's only just occurred to me that, maybe, I should try and practice not being a slut. Ugh. On top of that, in the middle of the inebriated haze that was yesterday evening, I found my way to my phone and [I can't believe I did it] sent a somewhat embarrassing text to someone else, who wasn't there, who's been on my mind for a while. I just read it back and it couldn't make much less sense - "Whatever you heard its complet blocks im not a italy slut honest im crazy about you but its like ARGH why are you so like yeah? Just doesn't make secret" - but you get the basic gist. I think "blocks" is "bollocks", I'm guessing "secret" is meant to be "sense", obviously there's a couple of examples of missing punctuation, but I'm stumped on the "italy slut" bit. What the hell is one of those? He replied to basically tell me to shut up and go to bed, but this morning when I apologised to him he sent me a 400-character reply which, upon close inspection [believe me, I've been doing it], could have been replaced by a simple "I don't like you and I'm never going to". I'm surprised by how much it hurts. Stupid inadequate self-esteem. And personality. And appearance. And everything else about me that makes me consistently unlucky in the love arena.

On the other hand, I've discovered that tears that fall onto your glasses make everything look as if it's underwater, which is pretty cool. 

Quote of the Day: Every single lyric in Jen Dobson's "Anything For You".