22/6

I left myself a blank page. The last page of my fourth consecutive diary. I left it blank for some small piece of enlightenment later. On the second to last page (because I greatly dislike the word penultimate) I scrawled down a dream. Tight neat black lines of ink, I dimly remember pulling the covers over my head and turning on my ipod just to grab some light. My second to last entry begins on the third last page and I've dated it 11/5 but that should be a 6 seeing as how it follows from 9/6 and addresses the issues in this previous entry. I picked it up maybe twenty minutes ago with a flash of inspiration about the inside of my head. I had to get it out, out as fast as I could before I lost it. That feeling that picks me up and understands. It's a feeling I can only express in my own terrible handwriting. But this scrawl informs me that on the twenty first of the sixth I filled every last space of that white page. Exhausted I had pulled images about choking on the previous night's perfume and tripping on discarded ribbon and lace and how I need to get out of this place. My flash of inspiration would have followed on. I would have written about how I want to pack a bag and go. How that's all I've ever wanted to do. I wanted to write about how that's all I had ever tried to do whether I was writing silly little escapisms or running away or attempting to do something really and truly idiotic, the point is there is nothing that compares to the knot in my gut as I leave my city behind.

I always thought I'd be gone by now. I had so many plans to take a year out and really see the world but such notions involved money and maturity and dreams of meeting somebody truly amazing who'd hold my hand until I could ditch them halfway across Europe. I never really found anybody. I attract those who want to protect me or those who need protecting and all I want is a little equality. Equality and a ticket out of here. Nobody could hold my attention for longer than a month and those who tried to stick around had every little fault picked out of them until they became a shapeless mass like everybody else. There was a boy with a stupid name, a girl with an odd nose and a whole society that made me feel so useless. Back then I was drifting and now the asphalt (because it's a pretty word) clings to the heels of my boots and either way I need out. I want to lose myself in something foreign. I like to shut out everything and lose myself in the centre of town, on a bus or a crowded street or a bar. Anywhere really you just got to get your head right and suddenly nothing makes any sense and I can't understand anything and it's terrifying but so very satisfying.

I wanted to write all of this and a helluva lot more I can't share here because you might read it and then where's the fun in telling you a secret in the future? Instead I've filled another notebook with nonsense and all I can do is mark the dates on the front page, the 1st of March through to the 21st of June which must be the shortest slice of my life I chose to record yet, tie it shut with an elastic band and place it in my box with the others. Until I sacrifice another I have to make do with half-thoughts and hope nobody reads too much into anything if they can even be bothered to read such a rambling mess.