I have nothing to write about apart from studying and recovering from my toe injury. This is what my life has become. Sorry, Mum; sorry, Dad; and sorry, baby Jesus—I have now become the worst thing in the world: boring. And I cannot see an end in sight. Please just let me wallow in my room in my Smiths shirt I haven’t removed in a week, my default position being crouched over history folders. I feel I will be in this position for all eternity, like that Inca mummy girl.

I suppose it’s my own fault for attempting this thing called life. Can life give me a break so I can just watch Morrissey and Marr dancing together on repeat? For eternity. Waiting for my toenail to fall off.

You didn’t just read that! No, here are the things that I’d much rather be doing right now:

  • Dancing with Morrissey and Marr.
  • For a while on Sunday I told Mum I’d rather be a ginger biscuit, but she said she would crush me to make the base of a cheesecake, so I figure that wouldn’t work out.
  • Having a week suspended in time where I can figure out what turning 18 next week really means (my mind says it has to MEAN something—not just that I was born 18 years ago; that would be too simple).
  • Buying a plane ticket to New York and just GOING! On my own. With on bag. Without a toothbrush.
  • Generally doing whatever, without being stopped by fear.
  • Being in a place where physical pain and anxiety symptoms don’t exist (dancing with Morrissey and Marr).
  • Being on a British beach that is miraculously neither windy nor chilly.
  • Being anywhere not windy or chilly.
  • Being on a farm. Oh wait, my best friend lives on a farm now, see ya!
  • Fast-forward to birthday: having a nice birthday. Rewind to January: starting to work harder earlier. Fast-forward to the end of May: no more exams.

It’s the worst when your reality is dragging and it leaks into your imagination and then even your daydreams don’t seem that exciting. I mean, a ginger biscuit? Is this the best I can come up with? But at least ginger biscuits don’t have to take exams. Or turn 18. Oh wait, shit, this biscuit is from 1852! That means it turned I-got-a-C-in-maths years old! It should meet up with the Inca chick. ♦