If we sleep together will you like me better?

Last night hit me with barrage of thoughts, too many, too real. I thought I was past this, I thought I was strong. I put the book down. I'll have to read it later when the sun burns too bright and exams loom. I can deal with the looming. Exams are dust, like this is dust and my thoughts are dust. We strive so hard for permanence. Scratching every word, breaking layers of skin to leave the scar we can look at fondly with a dash of embarrassment later. Sometimes I write something, a story or a paragraph, maybe just a sentence and I love it so much I want to write it again and again and again.

My third chapter is a mess. I like it and I know what needs to be done but I will almost certainly have to rewrite the whole thing upon completion. But this week I have an essay to do and books to read and films to see and people who need me. I used to love being needed. It gave me a purpose. Burned me with an identity. I was the one who solved problems. Who wasn't afraid to tell people when they needed to shut up and look at things logically. And I cared, I cared so hard I took on their problems. I was smug with it. I still have a pile of letters passed to me in classes that I read through in free periods. Analysed and prescribed. Ignored the fact I was a goddamn hypocrite and a liar.

I couldn't tell you the exact moment I switched off. It was probably around the time I called my best friend a daft cow and countered her pathetic attempts to get a rise out of me by thwarting her plans to fuck in the transport museum and telling others to think twice before borrowing her phone as she was too cheap to buy a real vibrator. I've watched people make stupid mistakes and bury themselves deeper into the sand and I've decided to let them.

I have an obsessive personality. Compulsive and addictive and all those other ives. You can almost track what was wrong with me through my life by what I was consumed by at the time. Only very recently did I realise I didn't need to throw myself into anything, I didn't need to fill every thought with a single idea or person. I like to think I've grown up but I think I just grew more selfish. In a good way. I don't want to be needed. I need to be wanted.

It's been such a long time since I could wake up with the sun on my face and smile in the mirror. I had the morning to myself and I took full advantage of this. I love Mondays. They're intrinsically mine.

You have bewitched me, body and soul.

In a controversial move I am going to proclaim my love for Mondays. I rarely do anything on Mondays, hardly surprising as being both mostly unemployed and a student on holiday I don't do much any day. But Monday nothing is a different kind of nothing. There's lots of planning and organising and things to consider. Such as what, if anything, do I need to do this week. What day should I go into town and buy jumpers and when should I try to sell all my old Uni books and do I think the Uni book shop will take the ones I bought on Amazon off my hands.

When I'm at least bored of thinking these things there's all the films I haven't got round to watching yet. Which reminds me, my copy of Pulp Fiction is inexplicably missing, which makes it the 4th thing to disappear this summer. This morning I watched Pride and Prejudice, the Keira Knightley version. First things first, I am no fan of Miss Austen. I tried to read her work twice when I was younger. Once when I was very young and consumed the classics as fast as I could lay my hands on them, and again when I was recommended Emma by a friend of mine. I never got past the first few chapters. Last year I was required to read Emma, and I wrote one of essays on it but my God I had to push myself to care. I always thought I would love Austen considering my fondness for Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights and her tendency to create such angrily handsome men but it was all so dreadfully soap operaish.

With all that taken into account, I recorded Pride and Prejudice the other day for the sole reason of spending 2 hours watching Keira Knightley (who I have a big gay crush on) and because I'm seeing Atonement soon and wanted to see what Joe Wright was capable of. It is, quite simply, a beautiful film from the soft light of every scene to the subtlety of the acting. It's those kind of romances I get all girly and sappy over, but then I've always been a fool for good old-fashioned romance.

Oh, and Matthew Macfadyen is far more attractive than Colin Firth anyday.

I realised for the nth time that I'm easily impressed by sideburns. Take an average looking English actor, add sideburns and a classic romance story and it's like whoa...


So yeah, Mondays. Not so bad when you can spend them cuddled up in your pjs with Keira Knightley teasing miserable-looking men with a mug of Spanish hot chocolate I stole from a hotel. Anybody who actually did things today I say pff to you. Also I might be sticking my tongue out at you cause you can't see me. That's just the kind of gal I am.