Chump is my new favourite word

I don’t feel very well today. In fact, I feel quite crap, and my arms hurt thanks to last night's misguided decision to do some press-ups. What I’d like to do is go home and get into bed, preferably with a nice cup of tea and the paper. However, what is actually going to happen is that I will sit at work all day and get progressively more miserable. Home is a bit weird at the moment because #4 has moved out (which is good) and #5 has moved in. She is very nice, but I am not good at adjusting to stuff like that, hence the hiding in the wardrobe scenario. #1 has gone up to Newcastle for a few days and this is when it will become really apparent how dependent I am on her. I feel completely abandoned. She’s not meant to leave me, and look, I’m all alone. That sounds so lame. But it’s how I feel, like nobody loves me and I’m going to die alone and blah blah blah shut your face.

The weekend was pretty eventful actually. On Friday, I finished work, went to a leaving “party”, ate some amazing carrot cake, then sat in the smoking room and talked about obscenities, which was predictably overheard. Then I went to the Market Porter, which was cool. Me and a guy from work had a very animated but frankly quite filthy discussion on the tube. He’s ace and his hair smells nice. I finally got to Harlesden and drank copious gin and rambled at length about how my life is going nowhere and I’m going to die alone (can you see a theme?). finally S and D both went to bed and I stayed awake for a while reading Heat magazine before falling asleep and getting stuck to the leather sofa.

Saturday really was just a lesson in how to fuck things up. For example, if you need to get home and you go to Cricklewood station, it probably would be a good idea to make sure you get the right train. I was a bit concerned when the train pulled into Mill Hill, thinking “I’m sure Mill Hill is further out of London than Cricklewood… but I did check the departure board, I wouldn’t have got the wrong train… I should stop being so paranoid… but B said that paranoia is just increased awareness… no no no, I’m sure it’s fime, just chill out…” and I kind of dozed off. And woke up in St Albans. Fucking St Albans! I knew it was the wrong bastard train.

I got home to see #4 moving his stuff out. He was being very obnoxious, but I was just so grateful to see the back of him. #5 turned up and I helped her with her bags and boxes. The best thing was, she had a dog with her! It’s not hers, she was dog sitting, but it meant there was a dog in my house - and a massive dog at that. Anyhow, by about 3pm, #1 and I were sitting around, bored. I suggested a bottle of wine. We drank that. She suggested the pub. Four pints later and I’ve agreed to fly to Newcastle and I can’t stop laughing. Which didn’t bode well for the rest of the evening as I had to go out for dinner. I guess being pissed helped a little as I was able to talk to people (including such a lovely girl), but it did mean that by the end of the night, when we’d eaten and been around lots of bars, I was eating the mint leaves out of my mojito and I think at one point I actually said “Mike Skinner, where have you been all my life?” and ripped the head off Johnny from Razorlight and slated everyone elses music and then started saying stuff like “her son is going to get my daughter pregnant”. My friend took me back to his house where I burst into tears and whinged for literally an hour, before then spending the next half hour saying “I’ve ruined your birthday! I’m so sorry!” and drinking more gin (this time with tonic, in preparation for when I am a housewife). Ever the great conversationalist, I said “let’s talk about our exes”, which in retrospect was a bit silly, but then again, he said “when I touched your leg, I almost died”, so I win.

On Sunday I went to the Brixton pool and managed 40 lengths – not bad with a hangover that large. Then I headed off into town and went to a ballet class. What I didn’t realise was that it was an advanced class, and I left feeling not only horribly fat (everyone else there was really skinny) but absolutely shit. It’s so demoralising when you’re the worst in the class. On Thursday I’m going to another class at the same studio, but a different level, so hopefully I will not feel so much like a dunce. And maybe not everyone will be so thin. Anyway, after the class I went shopping with my friend, and I saw the world’s most perfect dress. One day I will buy that dress and I’ll have a proper job and stuff and a beautiful man will love me forever. I’ll also learn how to walk in high heels and I won’t do my make-up on the bus. And I'll be thin.

What I wrote on the back of an envelope at 2am last night

You know that scene in 'True Romance' where she's like "and all I could think, was, 'you're so cool, you're so cool, you're so cool'" - well, all I could hear was "but Hats, I'm in love with you!" It was like I could see the whole thing from birdseye view. Me having puked at the bus stop, him holding my bag, me going on about some drunken shit, and N saying that. Out of the blue. Like he'd thought about it. And I honestly thought he meant it. Maybe he did. And that might be worse.

I am sick of lying to people. I never told huge lies, apart from the time of the "bad thing", the thing I don't talk about. And to G, who I treated abysmally, but he says he has forgiven me (and why?). The past aside - I am lying to everyone I know right now. Aside from the "how are you?" "oh, I'm x" (insert suitable adjective to sound convincing - "fine" or "alright" will not do), I am lying about two distinct things to seperate people or groups of people. And I hate myself for it.

Hats : will fuck for an ipod

I got told to update this but I don't really know what to write. The heat - and our broken air conditioning (or "AC" as I call it, to #1's vast amusement) in the office - is getting to me a bit. I don't mind sweating, I really don't (though I don't like other people sweating), but I can't think in this airless box they call my office. I seem to have given up wearing normal clothes at home. If I have to leave the flat I wear a red sundress that I'm fairly sure is quite indecent (this might explain the man chasing me around Sainsbury's the other day, but I think actually, he's insane and it was nothing to do with that). If I don't have to go out I wear these really hideous purple boxer shorts. They're truly awful, but I don't care. Yesterday I was chatting to a guy from work, who was recommending going to the Lido. I told him I hadn't shaved my legs and that I looked like I was recovering from measles (some fucking insect has made a tasty meal out of me). He said he didn't know about the measles, but I should just avoid rubbing my legs against anyone. I told him that I wasn't going to rub my legs against anyone, and that in fact, if anyone touched me or my legs, it would be a violation of my human rights because I just don't want to be touched, okay? Which was precisely the moment someone else wandered up and gave my friend a look like "why are you trying to molest this girl?", which is all quite fun. I have been mainly entertaining myself by acting in inappropriate ways and saying stupid things. My neighbours overheard (deliberately) me yesterday describing the really depraved sex I wanted to have. I think - though I can't be sure, as I may have just thought about saying it, as I was really pissed - I announced to #1 the other night that I was going to go and have a really big wank. Doing stuff like saying "cunt" in confined public spaces is not big nor clever, but I'm seriously bored and I can't think of much else to do. Oh yeah, apart from drinking. And sweating.

The French government have started advising people to take three showers a day to keep cool... and at the same time telling people to conserve water. I told this to the postman at work and he was like "yeah, but it's not like they'll use soap, the French smell!", (I would like to point out that he's not an employee here, he's the Royal Mail chappy). R tells me that last year the GLC put up signs and things telling people to have a shower before getting on the tube because the smell was so bad - I don't remember this, but it made me laugh.

On Monday (though it quite feasibly could have been any day) I went to the Commercial with #1 for a "treat" before we checked out the new improved Sainsbury's (which is shit - though #1 was funny as she went straight to the tills and demanded to know what was new. When they said nothing, she said: "well that's a bit shit then"), and anyway, we saw Jenny Eclair. Have you all heard my Jenny Eclair story? I sold her a jumper once when I worked at that exploitative-scum-shop (aka Gap), and went in the changing room with her and everything, yeah get me. Anyway, there she is, in the Commercial, and me and #1 are having some pints and being a bit stupid. #1 said, quite loudly, "I think I'm bored with shagging now" (clearly my tourettes style sex talk is contagious), causing Jenny Eclair to look over. #1 went bright red, and started spluttering, but Jenny (I think I'll be informal and just call her Jenny) said she was just eyeing our cigarettes enviously, as she'd just given up... Then proceeded to eye up our cigarettes for the rest of the night, though I personally think she was eyeing up #1.

I'm sure there are lots of other exciting things to write about but right now all I can think about it having a shower. That and an ipod. I have become completely obsessed with the idea of having an ipod, to the point that I genuinely believe my life will be complete if I have one. Which of course is ridiculous, as I can't afford to get one, and I am not having a good track record with technology at the moment anyway. But they're so cool... The little tiny ones... I would be scared of breaking it, but I would love it so much. Almost as much as I loved my cat. Maybe more.

Oh yeah, I was going to write about something that happened the other week. I was in the pub with G and he was taking the piss out of my "peasant fags" (as in, roll ups). G has never bought tobacco, only ever real cigarettes (though this is the boy/man whose parents gave him a credit card to their account when they went on holiday "for emergencies" and he racked up three grand in three weeks). I told him that I knew that I would have arrived in the world when I could buy real fags and shop in Waitrose, and some guy sitting near us, who I had never seen before in my life, turned around and said, "I'm sorry, but that's fucking pathetic - what kind of an aspiration is that?" I don't get it. How is that a bad aspiration? I've been really poor for ages, and I would just like to be able to buy fancy food and not have to roll every cigarette I smoke. What's wrong with that? I think it's perfectly reasonable, hell, it's reasonable to dream about chocolate brown labradors. Part of me thinks 'fuck it' cos I only have another six years of this - as in, in six years I will be 28 and will just want to have kids. That's how it goes, I am learning. You get to 28 and you just think "fuck this shit, I want some bairns". I have already arranged that I will have kids at the same time as S and D, though D's kids will probably bully my kids and S's chavvy kids. It will be a sweet existence until someones husband starts shagging the au pair and I get hooked on the kids Ritalin.

This is different, this is business!

I made a promise to myself last week that I would try to be nicer to people, and in particular, I would try to be more pleasant at work instead of sounding like such a mardy cow. But it just seems that events conspire against me. Firstly, I seem to have a bit of a golden touch when it comes to technology. My computer, my CD player and my mobile - oh yeah, and my housephone - are all broken to some extent. The radio can only get really shitty reception, so the only things I have to listen to are a Pink Floyd tape and a mix tape this guy from my sixth form made for me. He was a funny one, he once locked me in his house, and he arranged to get transferred into my tutor group. It got a bit scary and people were a bit worried he might rape me and my friend started screaming at him - while my tutor was taking the register - "fuck off you bleach headed freak, why don't you just fuck off and die!!" A year or two later I was having a drink with this guy called F (who I went out with for 2 weeks when I was 16 until I realised that you can't go out with someone just because they're hot, especially if they're a Jehovah's Witness and have irritating tics and write really terrible poetry) and he said that he'd seen this guy at some inter-university debating competition, and that they'd had to compete against each other. F seemed to be losing the debate, so in desperation, he shouted out "yeah, well, I had sex with Harriet!" and the other guy's face was like, oh.

Anyway, so my pc, stereo, mobile, phone... all broken. Then I get to work this morning and yet more technology fuck ups await as the phone system is broken AGAIN. It's this stupid phone system, probably second hand, but from Israel - which means that no one in this country knows how to fix it when it breaks down (and this is a pretty regular occurance). So some engineers come out, try to unplug the other computer, faff around, go to the basement where the system is housed, blah blah blah, and I'm thinking HANG ON A SECOND! It's Israeli! I don't want to use it! (and as I was writing that, it broke again...)

I am so tired of this. I am so bored and constantly on the verge of tears. I cried because I didn't like the engineer. I cried because I went past the park on the bus. I am so sick of myself and I am so sick of being sick all the time. I am scared to eat because I'll be sick. S reckons my insides must be made of Teflon to deal with the amount of alcohol I drink, and my very poor diet. Teflon hats. That's me. But my insides are messed up. And my head is all over the place, and I am generally unhappy. Yay me. I'm so tired.

I had a good weekend though. After work on Friday I went to the Slug and Lettuce and discussed travelling and vegetarianism with people from work, which was really nice. Afterwards I went to the park with T and we got locked in, which was pretty funny. A park ranger is meant to come round at kicking out time (ie sunset) but no one came, and we had to climb over the fence. When I was younger (like 17 or so) I used to climb over the fence of Hyde Park and go to the childrens playpark, but my fence climbing skills have not been utilised much recently. Anyway, it was fun, but when I got home I realised that actually I talk way too much and I should shut the fuck up. So I cracked open another bottle of wine and, er, called #1. By this point I was really drunk and I was rambling on about "poisonous venom, he's just venom, snaking around, y'know, I don't like it, I don't like the venom" while falling off my bed and generally being a buffoon. I also told #1 that I was so sweaty that if I was to die at that very second, I wouldn't need embalming, they could stick me straight in the mausoleum. Why I say things like this, I don't know (other than the simple explanation that I'm a complete twat).

On Saturday I woke up having been dreaming about auto-cannibalism. Cannibalism eh. There was a boy at my school who cut a bit of flesh off his leg and cooked it and ate it. But that's by the by. I went to meet R at the Vauxhall City Farm. It's really cool there, everyone should go. We took a picnic and ate it under the awning of a little house. A black and white cat - a large kitten really - sat with us, and children were running around. I like the City Farms, for all the inner city children who otherwise wouldn't see animals other than those dangerous dogs that seem to be everywhere. Vauxhall Farm is tiny, but it's like a proper oasis, as you don't realise you're only 5 minutes away from the station. The animals were cool. There were some ferrets, and initially I thought they were a bit gross (they go up your trouser leg, given half a chance) but one of them was trying to climb up to where I was, and had such a cheeky little face, that I just liked him a lot. I'm going to go to some of the other city farms, I feel so distant from the countryside nowadays. I grew up surrounded by fields and now I can't tell one crop from another, or different types of animals or anything. I don't know whether I want to know about the countryside per se, I guess I just don't want to not know things that I used to know. If that makes sense. In the evening I went over to Harlesden and had fancy food and talked lots. Hot gossip and all that. S is a really lovely girl, though she hasn't seen the Lion King. She told me that she maybe knows this one particular girl and now part of me wants it to be her and the other part of me doesn't, and the whole thing makes me want to cry/vomit. Why? I'm not sure. I can't pretend she doesn't exist... but I'd like to. Oh hell, I don't want to think about her. How can someone I've never met be messing with my head so much?

Yesterday I had another nice day, although I got completely freaked out on the streets of Camden. I really suck sometimes. I always feel so nervous. I was on the train and I had this knot in my stomach, and then walking along the street, I was actually terrified. I used to be able to cope with all these sorts of things, but now I can't. But it was okay, cos I met up with B and we went to a nice cafe/gallery place where they had rock'n'roll deckchairs. B is such a sweet girl. I smiled most of the way home (until I started reading my book and then I cried).

I got back about 9, because N said that he would ring at 9. Then I sat and stared at my phone for three and a half hours. Nothing. I tried not staring at it, but I couldn't help it. I drank some wine and read my book. But nothing. In the end I switched the phone off and on again, and it said I had two voicemail... So he had rung. This is what I mean about technology. It hates me. I liked listening to the voicemail but it made me sad - or, more accurately, even sadder.

#1 told me about a conversation she had with #4. It went like this:

Him: I just thought, before I move out... You know I went on holiday? Well I've got loads of cheap fags, if you're interested....
Her: Are you kidding me? I don't even want to talk to you.
Him: But this is different, this is business!

For some reason it has become the funniest thing ever and it is used as the answer to everything. I desperately want #4 to leave. I will feel so much better when he is gone, and I can maybe try to relax a little bit in my house. That would be nice. I have just written such a pile of shit. Can someone give me a hug now please? Thanks.

We're not in Kansas now, Toto.

I think I must be the only chump in the world who is actually cold in this weather. Our air conditioning has been fairly icy - though I think it's on the brink now because it's getting quite warm. Last night I woke up because I was so cold, which is frankly quite bizarre. I have been adopting the "stark naked starfish" position to get to sleep, but I normally wriggle a lot, which makes me a pain to sleep with. This morning at about six, I woke up shivering. Also, I was very hungover, thanks to downing a bottle of wine on the back steps in a fit of misery, and then going to the pub. So it wasn't a great start to the day, and I have managed to convince myself that the only thing that will make it better is diet coke, which I don't have.

I still haven't been to the GP and now my hip is painful not only when I'm walking but when I'm sitting down too. I should really make an appointment to see my GP, but I know I'll just be back at Kings getting physio again - wooo, I'm going to be a lifelong member of the mangled bodies society. Get involved. Also, through not eating properly, I have managed to lose some weight since the day of doom (ie 2nd July), which isn't a bad thing, but annoyingly a lot of muscle strength too. For example, at ballet, I've recently been doing triple pirouettes - really nice ones. But yesterday I couldn't do them, and it was really irritating. My legs are still strong (barring falling over a lot) but my back and stomach are just like bleurrrgh.

Things in Camp Mansions came to a bit of a breaking point on Tuesday and I feel hella guilty because it's quite clearly - although no one will say it - my fault. Here's the story of how my house turned into the poor man's version of the Alton Tower's Haunted Mansion. To set the scene, do you remember how #1 and #4 were always flirting and I was advising her not to shag him? Well, they did - which was the day before efftits came round (odd in itself, surely). And then again on #1's birthday, where it all went wrong. He lost his temper and got violent, and generally nasty. #1 told me about it that night because she was so scared, and he was trying to convince her that it was her fault (saying things like "you made me do it" and "every other girl I've ever told to shut up like that has just done it, why couldn't you?"). She tried to reason with him that she didn't want to be physically threatened, let alone thrown against a chest of drawers, or have marks round her wrists, or have him grab her face to forcibly make her be quiet. She was once hit by an ex boyfriend (haven't we all, it seems?), and when she tried to explain this to him he said, "What? Am I meant to believe that? Poor stupid blonde girl gets hit? Fuck off!"

So it was about three in the morning, she was crying, I was shaking with anger and ready to call the police. She made me promise not to say anything to him or to #2, and that I should act like I knew nothing. I agreed. In the morning they had another row because he wouldn't accept responsibility for what he'd done, but it was decided that everything should go on as normal. #1 really tried to act as if nothing was wrong, and I did try too. It's just that the thought of having someone like that in my house makes me feel physically sick. I don't agree with violence per se - not on a grand scale, such as the armed forces, nor on a smaller, personal scale - and I really object to domestic violence. #4's argument has been "it's not like I actually hit you", which is, from a moral and legal point of view, completely irrelevant.

I tried to act like there was nothing wrong, as did #1, but inevitably I fucked it up. He obviously suspected that she would tell me, as we tell each other everything. That weekend, #1 and I came back from town, quite pissed, to find the whole house stinking of ganja. We grumbled about it to each other in the kitchen while we made a pizza (read: put pizza in oven, wait 10 mins, hey presto - Jamie Oliver we are not). #4 came into the kitchen, and I asked him to remember, if he insisted on smoking in the living room, that he should shut the door and open the window. He told me to get off my moral high horse, and that I'd smoked in there before. "Yes, one cigarette," I told him. "The whole house smells." Because he's such an arrogant fuckwit, he couldn't just say sorry, and he replied that he couldn't smell anything in the kitchen, which is just ridiculous, as of course he couldn't, he'd been in the living room. He lost his temper and I told him to get out, and that I wouldn't be spoken to again like that. We haven't really spoken since. I think he should say sorry, he has been saying that I "went psycho" at him. But it all means that he accused #1 of telling me what had happened on the night of her birthday, and telling #2 that as well. If I had just kept quiet, or been more placid, then maybe things would have been okay. But I didn't, because I couldn't, and I am a huge part of this messing up.

#4 went away for a week or so, but came back and continued to act sullenly, and on Tuesday morning, #1 asked him when he was going stop this. He said that she'd told me, and that he hadn't done anything wrong. His actual words were: "for the first time in my life, I know that I did nothing wrong in this whole thing." He accused her of ruining the whole house dynamics, though she pointed out that he'd done that when he'd gripped her face like that. He stood in the corridor shouting "shut the fuck up you stupid bitch" for a while - all this time, I was in my room, "not knowing" (how am I meant to not know if something like this is going on - please, will someone credit me with some intelligence? I am sick of being lied to). That night, we asked him to leave. Since then, I have overheard him trying to bring #2 round to his side, and the whole thing makes me sick. Is #2 so stupid to believe him? And so insensitive to act like this in front of #1, who blames herself for the whole thing and is now worried that #2 doesn't believe her, or that she thinks badly of her.

The whole thing probably sounds really trivial to anyone reading about it, but it's really bothering me. #4 is leaving next weekend, but until then I feel like I can't go in a room if he's already in it, and I need to watch what I say in case he goes mad. I don't like living like this. People shouldn't have to live with the threat of violence - I thought I knew that (I do know that) but here I am again. Admittedly it's not as bad as it was the last time, or at least, it's different to the last time, for a plethora of reasons. But it's really got me thinking. I'm terrified that he will say something, like one of those awful comments cockface used to come out with, the ones that sent me rushing to the nearest lockable room. I am meant to be this strong character but really, I feel like a little girl, and I feel like there is nowhere I feel safe. I wish N still loved me because he could hold me and everything would feel better. But if I start thinking like that, I start feeling so sad, and I miss him too much.

I need to concentrate on the good things in my life, but sometimes I struggle to think of what these things are. My body appears to be falling apart, from the inside out. I love someone who I am slowly realising never loved me. My house (see above). I am baffled by my loan application and worried about not getting it, and not being able to do the Masters I dearly want to do. My job is unfulfilling and I think members of staff should not get away with shouting at me simply because I told him to look on the intranet (this man is not only the rudest man in the organisation, but probably the rudest man in Britain - I guess I got away lightly seeing as he made one of his colleagues cry the other week... such a horrible man). Oh yeah, and my PC seems to be up the swanny, so does anyone want to come round and fix it?

But those are all the negatives. The good things in my life... well, my family and friends. I am very lucky to have such good friends (although a little perplexed as to why some of the other people I count as friends seem to be ignoring me completely). I have recently got in touch with various people I haven't seen in ages, in some cases years, and that's all good. My close friends continue to be amazing. I complain about my job, but if it weren't for the people there, I would go mad, as there are some lovely people here. I got a call today at work that made me smile a lot. I have nice things planned for the weekend.

Is it bad that all the good things in my life are completely dependent on other people, and that I run a risk of losing everything if they change their minds? Because, let's face it, people can say all sorts of things and change their minds, and even if they're really sorry, it doesn't make it any better. I think I need a hobby, or something that doesn't remind me of everything that's come before.

Anyway, in other news, the situation in the Middle East gets worse, and I have been reading about what happens if you make a pizza in the shape of Palestine.

Rock the fucking casbah

My life SUCKS. And I'm not saying that in a comical way, like "ah, I suck, never mind", but I actually seriously suck, and thus my life does too. Bad things happen to good people, but more bad things happen to bad people. I really bore myself, though thankfully for everyone else, I am quite forgettable. Ach, I am so lonely and I can't decided whether it's better or worse knowing that he is not giving me a second thought. Can we just pretend I didn't do those things? Thanks.

On Friday I went for a pint after work with R, who made me laugh lots, as well as being really nice to me. I am trying not to be cynical around everyone (or at least, not TOO cynical) but when people start talking about relationships or love or stuff I just want to shake them and shout "It's all lies! They'll say all of this and then they'll change their mind!" but that would make me the girl in Legally Blonde. When I got off the bus I announced as loudly as I could, in my best West Country accent (I have been slating the West for comedy effect, though seriously, I could give you a list of reasons why the whole region is shite), that I would find her a cock shaped carrot. I love saying "cock" in public. There's a real ring to it. I also like saying "cunt" a lot, but that's because I'm crude.

Hmm, anyway, then I went to Holborn and got some un-asked-for faux-sympathy from N's housemate. Fuck it. I saw this guy from my sixth form who was like "hey, you should go and work in the film industry in Beijing, I'll sort it out for you" and I was like hell yeah. I went over to the Knights Templar (a pub I swore I would never go in again after what happened the last time I was there), drank some wine, saw my old next-door-neighbour, almost got trapped in a toilet cubicle, felt meh. We headed off to Soho and got a bad phone call (not really my place to write about this though), and went to the club. Some randoms came to sit with us (who S has since described as "astonishingly ugly") and there were some arguments and all the normal stuff, but D beat a 34 year old man in an argument, so I think we win.

Having announced to everyone on the N98 that between us we had every STD possible (doing my bit to enforce the stereotype that gora girls are slags), we got off the bus on the Edgware Road where the crime spree began!! I had no idea that I was actually friends with the Artful Dodger. But I am, and we amassed: halloumi, hummous, bread, lemonade, mars drink, jaffa cakes, and (the piece de resistance) breakaway bars! Ace. Finally we get to Harlesden, and we're seriously on the right road and I get threatened with arrest. Yay me!

After a couple of hours sleep, none of it good for the normal reasons plus some new ones, I went to meet my parents, who were in London for the day. We went to the Lambeth Country Fair, which was AMAZING. There was a dog show and an owl display and carniverous plants and a man with a proper bee hive and sheep being shorn. But the best was the animals- alpalcas and giant two-foot rabbits and a goose who couldn't swim or fly and some fucking shit hot geese- and the best, pygmy goats. I am in love. I want a pygmy goat, they are possibly the coolest thing I have ever seen. I would have two, so they wouldn't be lonely, and they would be well tame. Sweet lord, they were the cutest things ever, no lie (or "don' liay" to quote everyone's favourite north London rudeboy). I am contemplating volunteering at Vauxhall City Farm just to hang out with these goats, though a number of reasons would stop me- not least that fuckface used to work at the farm. But seriously, those goats would break your heart.

What else happened on Saturday? I hung out with my parents and it felt really nice, like they were my friends. However, I couldn't stop thinking about the conversation the night before, and I felt so guilty. I don't deserve this. Blah. We went to the Tate Modern and I started retching on the Millenium Bridge. I can't deal with that bridge at all and I don't know why, as I can walk across other bridges, even other footbridges. It was high tide and my mum was like "oh, look how high the water is!" and my legs just went. Then in the evening I decided not to go out as I am too poor and couldn't face the journey to Harlesden, so I stayed in and drank two bottles of wine, listened to The Clash a lot, tried to fix my sunburn, watched Mean Girls, and tried to ignore the feeling of unending sadness.

On Sunday other stuff happened but I can't be bothered to write about it. I've been writing this entry bit by bit, but I can't face writing any more. Last night consisted of me forcefeeding myself a bottle of white wine even though it was making me retch, because otherwise I wouldn't get to sleep. And now I feel sick, as too much white wine plus all the beers I had plus not eating plus a sense that I have been destroyed is not good.

FIRE!

I am going to try not to whinge too much in this entry as I am sure it's hella tedious. There are some things that are going to be left out for a number of reasons - not least that a lot of the thoughts in my mind are bordering on the insane - but also because I don't want certain people to read these things. I have told a couple of people and they have listened to me complain, and I really appreciate it. I know I'm not fun to be around and I'm so grateful that there are people being so sweet to me. I feel so guilty, because these people don't know that I'm actually a bad person. That's something for another day though. As I said, no whinging.

Briefly, I do want to want to complain - and I promise this is brief - about my hip. It's fucked. It's actually very painful to walk at the moment, and I keep wobbling about, which is always attractive. So this morning, I looked it up on the internet, and oh my god, please don't let it be any of these things. I'm going to go to the doctor and get myself fixed up look sharp.

The most exciting thing today was that I called 999! A man collapsed in the street, so I called an ambulance. It took literally two minutes for the paramedic bike to come. I was well impressed, and then I thought, yeah, but the hospital is only up the road. Then I remembered that Guy's doesn't have an A&E, which of course I know full well, having spent a Saturday morning having this whole rigmarole. So it was quite impressive, and an ambulance came two minutes after that. I hope the man is alright. I don't know whether it's actually quite deplorable to find it exciting to call 999. I've called it three times in my life (that I recall- once the police and twice now the ambulance), but the other two times weren't so exciting. In fact they were crap. Now all I need is the fire brigade. My youngest brother called the fire brigade once, at saturday school. He was only little but he got in loads of trouble with our parents. I was a bit envious, to tell the truth, that he had the guts to actually call the fire brigade. I was always too scared to do stuff like that. I kind of made up for it in my first year at uni when I got the fire brigade called out twice to High Holborn halls. Obviously now I apologise to everyone for waking them up, but honestly, the megalomanic feeling of looking along High Holborn and seeing 600 people standing around in their pyjamas and fire engines providing a surreal backdrop was not only immensely satisfying, but a kind of "fuck you" to the LSE.

Actually last night there was a bin on fire on Battersea High Street and it took five men to put it out. My friend thinks she might have started it by chucking her lit cigarette in there an hour previous. Class.

Modern life is rubbish, and other overused cliches.

I think it has just hit me that it's over. Like properly hit me. And no amount of drinking or cracking jokes is going to make it better. People think I'm in a good mood today, but really I'm just pedalling so hard to try and make it all stay still. Before midday I take five pro plus and then I throw up all my lunch, which is the only meal I allow myself. I don't want to exist. All this 'feeling pain makes you feel you're alive' bullshit is wrong. I'm not angry any more, I'm not all self-righteous with my "why me, I'm such a nice person" crap. I'm just overwhelmingly and completely all encompassingly sad. But it's fine. I'll pretend and I'll put on a show and I will try to scrape my insides off the soles of my feet. And I'll pretend I'm not drowning in a sea of loneliness. I feel ill all the time now- I'm always shaking, I feel so sick. It's like nerves. I'm so apprehensive about the future because if this is what it's going to be like, then I want no part of it. I don't know what to do. He sent me a text and I was so happy but I felt like I'd been kicked. This is the most horrible thing, and I would give anything if it could just be okay again for an hour or a minute even, and for him to hold me again. I wish I could just vanish from the face of the earth.

My abject misery aside, I think everyone should say well done to all the people who got their exam results today. I'm very proud of all of them.

A bit of an update to my life

Whenever I'm away from a computer, I can think of loads of things to write in my blog. But put me in front of a computer- as I am all day- and I can't think of a single thing. Having said that, nothing I can think of is particularly insightful or interesting, and most of the time, I'm incapable of thinking of anything at all. I spend a lot of time and effort trying to distract myself by doing other things, such as copious drinking, reading, aimlessly surfing the internet, etc. None of these are really working. I'm not sleeping very much because I find it hard to fall asleep, and once I am asleep, I despise the dreams I'm having. And then waking up is horrific- I am jolted awake after four hours, and although I can sense something is wrong, I can't quite place what it is. Then I realise, and I feel at once empty and full of sadness/anger. I can't believe this has happened- or more accurately, I don't want to believe this has happened. I miss N more now than when he was in Singapore, because then at least he was going to come back. And now? Well, now, I just feel like a mug. I keep crying.

I can't stop thinking about it all, no matter what I do to take my mind off things. Work is a real struggle, because putting on this facade is difficult and tiring. I can manage it around people that I know (although I found an even easier way of dealing with things is to not tell anybody, avoiding all the questions like "but I thought he really loved you?" - yeah, well so did I) but I am finding talking to people on the phone really difficult. Especially at the moment, as so many people calling up are being horrifically rude, clearly as some sort of cosmic joke. I dread picking up the phone because people shout and call me names and stuff. I can understand that they're upset or aggrieved about something - or else, why would they be calling? - but why pick on me? It's really not helping. I'm so unhappy here for other reasons too.

One thing that is useful is that I know that I start my masters in a few months. If I didn't have that, I don't know what I would do. I was talking to R (who is finally back from her holiday and is being so lovely) and we agreed that it will be good for two (main) reasons: 1) academic development, hopefully leading to a better job, and 2) personal development. Then again, I'm apprehensive about attaching too much importance to my masters/the next year, as I'm worried about investing too much hope in it, because I can't face another dream being destroyed.

I just think it was a really awful thing to do to someone.

As this is meant to be an update of my life, I guess I should mention what I've been up to. Obviously there was the Deloitte ball, which I already mentioned, last Friday. On Saturday I went to the Rise Festival in Finsbury Park, which wasn't all that great (it was crowded, I felt awkward/unnecessary/pitied, etc). I was going to go to some random birthday thing but I started crying on the bus back from Elephant so I went home instead, hung out with #1, got very drunk, cried for about six hours solidly. On Sunday we decided to clean the kitchen, so we stuck Radio 3 on and cleaned everything- surfaces, walls, skirting boards, floor. We got through a fair bit of Jif, that's for sure. All the time I was cleaning, I was thinking that N was probably doing the same thing right at that moment (I was right). By about midday, the kitchen looked amazing, and I pottered about for a bit before going out to Dulwich to meet P. P is a girl I was at uni with, who I hadn't seen in ages. I'd forgotten just how lovely she is, and how much we have in common. I really enjoyed seeing her again, and we're going to see Pirates of the Caribbean next week (I think it sounds like an awesome film and I can't wait!). I walked home from Dulwich- it's quite pleasant, and I like walking, even though I didn't have my mp3 player (normally a necessity). In the evening I went up to Harlesden, where we drank wine and pimms and made hummous and talked and made plans. S and D are so sweet and I love them a lot.

Every day that passes, I get angrier, more regretful and more morose, because this is not how things were meant to be.

This is properly shit

This has been such a horrid day. But fucking hell, I am glad I live with #1. I was abandoned by like everyone in the world so I bought more vodka and I planned to get so wasted I would be able to sleep. However, #1 was home and we hung out and talked a lot and drank and even scrubbed the kitchen floor for a bit. I kept stopping because I kept crying, but it's so good to be around someone who doesn't mind that suddenly you've gone silent, and that you're just going to cry for a while. And it's so nice, it's honestly so nice, to be around someone who loves you and isn't going to change their mind (I don't think). Which is why I'm so lame and if she moves out, I will follow her and fuck everything else. Though I know, deep down, that sooner or later, she'll be like "oh actually, would you mind, can you just fuck off?" and I will have lost AGAIN.

She apologised for telling #2 about stuff, and was genuinely concerned I'd be annoyed, when there's no way I would. I'm glad she did. I can barely bring myself to speak to anyone- as witnessed today in Lesson In Social Awkwardness Part Million at the Rise Festival. I don't know what to say to anyone. "Hi, I'm completely screwed?" It wouldn't go down well. So I stay silent, and if I could disappear I would. I thought maybe it would be cool to go out but it was the worst idea in the world because everyone fucking knows and now I see, now I fucking see, that no one wanted to talk to me anyway and now why on earth would they? I wouldn't care but for the fact that everything is fucked and everytime I look at him I'm at once happy that he's still in my life and then stabbed with the pain of knowing that, no, surprise!- it's fucked. I am tempted to turn my phone off for a while but I can't because of the job hunt and the fact that the agency will call me. I didn't do anything wrong. But then that's what I'm saying a lot at the moment: I never did anything wrong. Apart from be the wrong person and be so fucking stupid and delusional that I could kid myself it wasn't like that. I'm such a fucking twat and I want everything to be... I don't know, just being nothing would be a start.

And then I made the big mistake of looking at my photo album, and it's like now I can see a million more layers to every situation. I put my music on "shuffle" and every song is like a knife twisting inside me. I can't stop crying and my insides hurt and why did no one tell me it would be like this?

Bad things happen to good people

I'm such a fucking moron. I think what I would like to do right now is fuck off and die.

I got home this morning and there was a strange man in the house, except I guess he's not a stranger, I know exactly who he is, but the fact that he is here is strange in itself. So I tiptoed around trying not to be a pest. I didn't think I'd be able to talk to anyone but I tried really hard and it was okay-ish, but I was exhausted afterwards. #1 can see right through me and she knows something is desperately wrong even when I'm like "I'm fine" and trying to change the subject. I ate a piece of toast and immediately threw it up. I'm going to stick to cigarettes and diet coke. Ha! It's like a proper dancer's diet. Except I can't dance, and next week someone from the Guardian is coming to my ballet class, but I honestly don't care anymore.

I came within an inch of being hit by a car earlier, and it gave me such an adrenalin rush. It's cool to feel something that isn't misery or apathy or worry or fear. I wouldn't mind being run over. When I got hit by that taxi, it was more exciting than anything else. And it's fucking easy to get run over, you just walk down the road really, or shut your eyes and cross the road.

We went to the ball last night and that was nice. There was a small army of people serving the food, all orchestrated by a man with white gloves, who was conducting the whole operation. The food was really good (I'm glad I'm vegetarian because the vege option looked way nicer than the meat one- but perhaps that's because I find the sight of slabs of bloody flesh quite disgusting) and wine was poured for you and all. I tried to talk to people but I'm socially retarded, and what can you say? Then I felt really bad, because it's not my night and if I was a better person I would be able to be all witty and "sparkling company" or whatever. But I'm so not. And although many of the people seemed like tossers (including a man who looked like a warthog), there were some sweet people, such as a girl who was telling me she was really envious of me for working in the punlic sector. So I took the sensible option and locked myself in the loo and made a tit out of myself by calling the person who'd been the biggest advocate of me NOT going. I tried to get some control over the situation so I did the two things that normally work- be sick and help people. Then we went home and I felt like I died.

I've got a really good idea...

Why don't you take my life, shit on it from a great height, and hand it back? Thanks!

People are being really sweet to me, even people who I never thought would. And that's all nice. But I don't want that. I don't want this to have happened. I don't want this in any way.

I keep thinking of the he said she said and it tears me apart.

So I guess this is me

When I got back yesterday I drank a bottle of vodka and cried for hours even when I was so drunk I couldn't see. I passed out on the bathroom floor and then I was really sick. #1 put me to bed and stayed with me all night. I woke up at 05:30 and for a minute, I forgot. But then my head started to hurt a lot and I remembered, and I felt like I was kicked in the ribs. I sat on my balcony and smoked fistfuls of cigarettes. I'm smoking Marlboro Mediums as it seems apt to begin and end with the Mediums. I deliberated whether to call my mum at 6am but didn't. My feet are bleeding but I don't remember why, and I don't care, they don't hurt at all in comparison to this.

I'm at work and I keep crying. I want to go home. But I can't make it all that way, I can't do anything. And if I went home, I don't know what I would do. Maybe it's better to be busy. This hurts. This really really fucking hurts.

And I don't understand, I just don't understand how or why this has happened. Maybe I'm a bad person and I deserved it? But I don't think so. I was such a good girlfriend. It's just not enough. If I could make myself disappear, I would, because I can't talk or think or eat or read or listen to music or anything at all without it killing me inside. This is so fucked up. I hurt so much. I just want it to be some big mistake or to go back in time, but it's not going to be like that and it's never going to be okay. I'm fucked, I'm done, it's all over. This is horrible.

The End

Everything is ruined.