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Sometimes I think I'm going mad. There's the endless conversations I conduct in my head which, combined with my habit of muttering to myself and my fucking lip that's driving me crazy, I attract a lot of odd looks and nobody ever wants to sit next to me on the bus. Which is fine, I don't want them sitting next to me. But to have three people in one bus journey actually begin to plank their ass on the seat next to me before pulling up and moving on is a bit much. There's also the hair. I have Dylan Moran hair today. I woke up and it was shorter and bigger somehow. It's also thicker, all over the place and has changed shape several times during the course of the day. Honestly I don't know what it's doing. And I still don't have the money or strength of mind to face a hairdresser. I didn't pay to hear about your wacky cousin's wedding or the tattoo of Dad you have on your shoulder. Put it away and cut my hair for the love of all that is good. I never like it when I come out anyway. It grows so fast and then it gets to that awkward stage where it does mad things like recently. I don't know why I got it cut this length anyway. That's an outright lie. I got it cut this length because some creepy junkie started talking to me at the station and sat next to me on the train and kept touching me and telling me I was perfect just the way I was. My outfit was perfect, my hair was the perfect length, I was a lovely girl. Soon as I could I went to the hairdresser and put up with her tales of her friend who used her for her car and gone was my easy-to-deal-with hair. I really should stop doing that. But then everytime I spend time on my appearance and I can look in the mirror and say 'yeah you look pretty alright today' I attract a freak. Actually I attract them anyway. Today, looking like the mad Irishman that I did, a man nearly fell out the open window of his white van as he gave me a dirty look. I don't get it. I'm not that much to look at. I'm awkward and my face does screwy things when I'm thinking and I wasn't even dressed remotely up. I have freak radar. Like a socially inept bat.

I've been trying to write something all day. Something I had to get down. One of those niggling ideas that wake you up in the night because you haven't written it yet but when you sit there, pen in hand, nothing happens. I've spent three days on this and written five drafts, none of which are finished and one of which is in my own wondrous tense of not making sense. I got more than a little pissed off this afternoon. My room looks like a stationary shop exploded.

Gah I'm just fed up. I shouldn't have relaxed. I've fended off the depression for about three months and stupidly thought I could make it through the rest of the year without moping. I need someone to give me a good shake, tell me I'm being daft and then whisk me off on a whirlwind romance where I don't need to pretend I'm in love and I can be as filthy and sarcastic as I wanna be.

For now, I'm gonna go play Star Wars Lego on my Gameboy. It won't cheer me up but I get to shoot things with lego lasers. It is enough.