One day, I'll be on fire.

Hmm. I don't know. I feel funny. I have been so cold for the last few hours and nothing is making me warmer. I made some spinach and mozzarella and that didn't help. I don't think I'm ill (although we have a confirmed case of tonsilitis in the house, so I am taking something like 1000% RDA of Vitamin C in an attempt to ward that one off), I think it's more psychological. I felt fine- excited, even- before my interview. I made that mind map. I knew what a hedge fund is. The internet was working. My hair was looking quite smart (this is often an achievement all in itself). I felt, and this is probably the most stupid, confident. I suppose it serves me right for thinking that things might be okay, and for thinking that I wouldn't have to go back to my soul destroying job. But at the time, I felt good.

I sat serenely on the train. I didn't fidget like I normally do. I read my book and only now, looking back on it, do I think that I looked like a nob. At the time, I felt good.

I walked down bloody Picadilly wearing my suit with lots of other people wearing suits and I guess I must have stood out like a sore thumb. I know that I am a complete fraud if I think that it is in any way "me". But at the time, I felt fine.

I don't even know what was so wrong with the interview. But afterwards I wanted to run and run and run and throw myself into something warm and enveloping, like a pool of lava, or more likely, my bed. But I didn't. I counted each one of my steps as I walked to the tube station because if I didn't concentrate, I would fall over and never get up.

Then I went to the park and I sat on a bench and I cried. A tramp came along and asked other people for 40p but he didn't ask me because I am a fucking pitiful human being at times. I know this sounds so pathetic. And it probably is pathetic.

I met up with L and we went to the pub. He has known me for longer than anyone else in London and he knows almost everything about me. I used to wake him up in the middle of the night and ask him to sleep in my bed because I used to get so scared, even though he talks in his sleep and takes up all the space and duvet. We talked about why I was so upset, and how inadequate I feel and by the time I left, the beer and the words had started to help and I was able to come home and not burden my housemate with my ineptitude. I know that if she knew how I felt that she would be so disappointed in me and I can't deal with that.

The other day I had almost decided not to do my Masters. I am so fucking lame. I still haven't decided one way or another. I cried and went further towards eroding any sympathy anyone has for me. I really want to do my Masters. I just don't know if I can.

I am sick of being cold and I am sick of crying so I am going to go to bed. But the one thing that would make me feel better right now, better than the other strategies I used (tea, spinach, mozzarella, bamse mumse) is not here so that's pretty shit too, really.

Sorry about this.