Thursday, 26 November 2009

Hello. I am a title. How are you?

I would like to run away to a happy place. Although I suppose it could be argued that I am there already.

I blame matchbox 20.

Tomorrow I will be able to run to Nottingham. This makes me happy. I say run. There will be no running. There will probably be walking in a fashion similar to that of a drunkard. Being drugged up to ones eyeballs does have amusing side effects as well as helpful ones. I walked into my door today, I have dropped my cigarettes countless times, and I have walked to and from my bed a few times more than necessary for no reason other than I wished to sit down. No logic.

Tomorrow I shall also get my blood stolen. I am worrying about this far too much. I am quite the neurotic dinosaur. I have to go on my own. This makes me sad. But I am nineteen years old, it is about time I grew up and realised there wont always be an unfortunate hand for me to squeeze to death in my moments of need.

I have nothing else to say today, unless you are some creepy northern guy in which case I have just pointed my middle finger at you. Hah.

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