Trust your instincts and let me in

It's three in the afternoon. I'm not dressed. I've moved from my bed to my couch but not much further in all the hours I've been up. I am on holiday and man am I ever fucking bored. I'm sick of this dull existence. I'm tired of floating along. I want more. I tried so hard this year to make things go well and in a way I succeeded. I haven't failed anything like I did the first year I tried Uni. But after my first week of smiling at everybody I met and doing the whole rigmarole of where I'm from, what I'm studying and acting as Glasgow guide as best I could to these new people I gave up. With the exception of the girls I already knew either from school or Italian last year I met maybe 2 other people I didn't hate instantly. It is my own fault. I am appallingly bad at small talk. And I am starved of affection. I mean the bus driver gave me a wink yesterday and it made me grin instead of triggering my usual femme rage. I am fast approaching nineteen and I still think like a fifteen year old half the time, all muddled up and confused. I tell myself I do not need anybody. I've got friends I adore and family who support me. I need no romance. And still the first person to even indicate they might be interested (and I'm not talking bus driver winking here) and I obsess for a week just until I'm half in love with my ideas and thoroughly depressed that nothing is happening and then I come to the conclusion that no sane person would want me. It doesn't help that I do attract a right load of freaks and men who want to use me but I will admit I can be a right pathetic little girl at times. Ack we all got our issues and my insecurities are nothing ground-breaking so I'm going to try and hush up about them. The internet is angst-ridden enough as it is.

I was having a bit of an online tidy-up. Deleted my wordpress because I never used it and wordpress is a bit rubbish really. Lotta spambots and creeps. And Julie. I also deleted my very first online journal from when I was around fourteen or fifteen and I'd just got my laptop and discovered the internet. It was on this Lord of the Rings site and I used it mostly to upload my novel that I was writing at the time (which I will never ever show you if you haven't seen it already but you can find parts of it if you know where to look) because it dealt with elves and I had a fair wee following of fans. It was the first piece of writing I ever followed through to some kind of ending though. I can't tell you how many words it was, only that my first draft had some thirty chapters and my redraft that I never completed stops at chapter 24 and was 2/3rds of the way through. It was therapeutic writing. I attempted to get all my ideas about suicide, self-destruction and elves down but I avoided tackling them head on and I wrote about such depressingly lofty ideals to avoid the real issues I was faced with; namely the death of two of my grandparents a year after each other, and my first boyfriend who, after giving me my first kiss at fourteen, tried to give me a lot more than I was willing to accept.

I had a laugh though rereading all my posts since there was no button to delete them all. I had such a sweet lil internet persona. None of it was real. Some of the events I related were true, I can remember them clear enough, but so many details were blatant lies. I was safe behind a fake name, I could say what I wanted, pretend to be whoever I liked and nobody could pull me up for doing so. I was reluctant to start another blog. I had a blogger account a year ago and I deleted it after a month. I have a tendency to either share far too much when I should remember that people are actually reading this or I lie in the hopes that you will read this and be wonderfully fascinated with the person I could be. It's a funny old place this internet.

The real issue is having gone six hours without getting dressed should I do so now or give up on the day and stay wrapped up in my Mario shirt. Tough call.