Oh so tawdry

I have a choice.

Dirty pretty things ticket or a haircut.

Carl Barat all half naked smoking with his guitar or a way to stop looking awful.

The man who gave my little parisienne a theme with his offhand comment about epiphanies that I loved so much I copied it out on notebooks and scraps and hands.

Or being to see without shaking my head all the time.

I'm going to have to be sensible and go with hair. After all I have seen the band already and I do have exams around the time they're playing.

Oh it is so hard being financially wise but it'll be worth it.

Incredibly tired. Beyond tired. Summary of life over past few days: no sleep, made cookies, went to Perthshire where I: looked at stones, watched a man make fire, saw lots of ducks, hated on some posh girls who were afraid of bees. Then I: went to el cinema, met bob and his friend who remembers reading my boobs (and phoned the other friend who remembered what was written on my tshirt), tutted at djs who didn't have the music I wanted, dozed amongst girls underwear, watched celtic win for once, ate cookies.

To do: sleep.

Also the sun is shining in case you haven't noticed and my cheeks got burnt because they always do the instant the sun appears. Bad side: itchiness. Good side: freckles!