To Andrew of Campbell Street

I am sorry you could not possibly know that just because I was up dancing and laughing that I would be fun and/or easy. This is mostly due to the fact that I'd wanted to go home at 11 and it was coming up for 3. I was drunk on corona, jack and tequila because it was £1 a drink so why the hell not and annoyed that I was still there, that I'd been id'd at the bar (never happens), that my order was questioned several times even though I'd spoken loud, clear and confidently, that I looked like shit because my hair was such a mess all I could manage was pigtails. This is also due to the fact that your face was problematic. Angles I could not understand and facial hair like that thing you did in science, you know, with magnets and crumbs of metal. Also you made the mistake all men make of using the words "you should". I don't care what you are recommending I do, don't fucking say it. I will not be told what I should be doing. And you had the cheek to try to goad me into dancing more. I mean you were fucking asking for it.

So that is why I laughed in your face constantly and shrugged off your stares. That is why when Last Night came on I leapt up and bounced out of my heels and dipped my ass to the ground because Kirsty did not know how to do it. That is why I did not acknowledge you trying to dance behind me. That is why I leaned back so close and darted out of your way every time you tried something. That is why I left without saying goodbye and ignored you outside and when you demanded a hug I sighed so loudly at the taxi door and half-heartedly waved an arm out. I'm so sorry you were too interested, I'm sorry I slid away when you tried to kiss me. I'm sorry that she was so drunk that she cried half the night because her life is a mess.

I'm sorry that while I was trying to calm her down I was busy trying to find the perfect phonetic spelling for the next line in my next novel. I'm sorry that at 5am my hand found my phone in my jeans and typed tequila headache oww but did not send it because 'it's the wonder of communication and why should I send knowledge of my crippling hangover over the sea?'

I'm not sorry that I went home early even though I had to get her out of bed and my heels echoed too loudly down her street. By doing so I calmed the resent in my chest, I gave a man directions to a street he was already on and I saw Glasgow laid out before me covered in clouds. I wanted to scream louder than anything that I fucking loved my city but I can't stay here any longer.

I am slowly losing my mind.

There's nothing else to do

This week I did something I rarely do. I went out drinking two nights in a row. Oh wow look at me be the social butterfly. On the one hand I don't have hours to waste thinking. On the other I don't have hours to waste thinking. Anyway so tonight I was sober so I took pictures of things.


I call this one, things found in my jeans. Not pictured is the spare button to the skirt I am not wearing. It's a pretty great skirt though. It's a train ticket (not mine) on which I have scribbled either 3 paces out or space out, I step and smash into traffic. I'm sure it was relevant at the time I wrote it. The other is a paper airplane I demanded be made for some reason. I think I wanted to throw it at somebody. I never remember how to make them. And yes I'm reading Peter Pan. It's one of my all-time favourite books.



This was on a bathroom wall and I had enough wits about me to photograph it. One day I will photograph everything I read in public toilets and make some sort of art book. I call it my Second Year project. I mean what else would I do at uni? Learn? Pffft to that.

Bed now.

I have an excellent idea, let's change the subject

I have a green tshirt with a panda chasing a pint of guinness. That is perfect St Paddy's day attire. It was in the wash yesterday and as I sat in the union surrounded by green pixies all I could think was damn, why on earth did I wear it last week. For the most Irish of days my little sister eyed up her own Paddy at school (whose name is not Paddy but I decided it was one day because I thought he was irish, turns out he's just ginger?) but did not drag him round the back of the bin sheds (phah). I had a night of lighthearted bitching and alcohol and laughing at Rob's attempts to stuff ten pound notes down bras and pull men. And when I got home I wrote half-unconsciously but there's a fair amount down on paper (a little more on my fingers sadly).

So now I'm typing it all up and mentally riffling through my wardrobe as I think of something french whorish to wear tonight. I'm ditching a football match to socialise (a fact which will no doubt lead to my dad and Paddington to wind me up about my 'queer book club' since none of 'those boys' like football. S'all meant jovially of course because my father can't be a homophobe since 'his best man was gay'.) So typey typey typey and I looked up wikipedia for something, I forget exactly what now, and naturally once the free encyclopedia is fired up you gotta do the info hop. Learn a bunch of useless crap. Which is how I ended up on this page. Now with any luck it'll be unchanged by the time you click it but you never know so I'll put it here too. After discussing various kinds of highlighter the article goes on to say:

you are getting very very very sleepy. you are veryyy sleepy. on the count of 3 you will wake up and bake me some bluberry pancakes. 1 2 3 ... pancakesss. pancakess. chiliburgers. sexual confundity... pancakes.. pancakes!

I've never found vandalism on my own before. Aside from the brilliant let's vandalise the chicken page thing that led to many a cock joke.

Ah the internet. Even with the depravity and the whining and the drama! you can always make me giggle.

One can't help believing gentlemen with Roman noses

"What's geographical survey do you think?" Ignoring the giant holes in her lobes and the mess of plum hair, she's quite attractive really. And she's like me, hugely disappointed that all we ever talk about are hills and what they might contain. I smile and hope I don't look too ragged. I know I do, but it's nice to pretend nobody else can see. So I smile winningly and unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth: "s'like map looking"

Map Looking.

Oh the shame.

My mother gave me two pieces of advice when I started drinking: don't drink vodka with orange and don't drink so much that you make an arse of yourself. And I try to keep it in mind as I stare at the bottom of a bottle. I think I do ok. I talk shit and there's been a couple of silly moments and I always dance like a fool, not alcohol related I just always dance like a fool. I know I'm graceless enough to be so very far from sexy but that's what spirits, dimmed lighting and booming bass lines are for: ignoring obvious flaws.

I'm a mass of bruises. The triangle is gone. This morning in fact I noticed the last hints of yellow geometry had finally faded. I'll miss it, mostly because I couldn't show it off to anyone. Still mystified as to how it got there but I guess I'll never know. The rest of me is dotted with greyish green smudges. It's idle curiosity that consumes me these days. They don't hurt, not really, and they're just results of clumsiness. Doors, walls, tables, people. I don't pay enough attention. I'm too wrapped up inside my own head. I'm also a terrible fidget. And completely distracted by a dozen other things I caught the edge of my lip between my teeth and clamped down until my eyes watered. Sucking the blood away surreptitiously it struck me that this was an incredibly stupid thing to do. I mean seriously, what the fuck is wrong with me. I stayed out all night drinking away my money and grinding away my cares but I woke up the next morning with all the same shit. Same hang-ups, same regrets of things left unsaid and foolish mistakes I'm tired of learning from. And god, I'm bored. I switched off a little. Slumped down and listened rather than participated. I need shaking up but I'm too much of a coward to do it myself.

But it's not as bad as it's been before. There's a cosy casualness settling in my limbs, feeling secure in who I am, even if she's a liar and a fool. And I don't know if it'll last or if I'll end up driving people away again but it's a comfort for the moment. And the bump of angry healing on my bottom lip is another comfort. It's painful and it's annoying but it'll pass and it gives my mouth an occupation while I'm dreaming away time I should be spending doing something productive. It's a question of perspective, and on the whole I'm doing pretty alright.

You can keep that kind of flim-flammery for your spaceport floozies

Sometime after I danced on the table with the guy who asked if we were bi (which I found hilarious because neither of us had given any indication of being straight and clearly he was being hopeful) and the guy on the other side of the couch went home after flirting with me, casually mentioning he had a girlfriend of five years and spending the next half hour looking at me while I ignored him, we decided it was time to go home. My dad was still up when I stumbled in the door but he left me alone and I'm dimly aware of dragging my covers to my couch so as not to wake Julie and replying to a bunch of texts but not a lot else. I got teased this morning, everybody all "haha drunk" but I shushed them and ate cake. All in all it was a good night, the first half at least was great (despite being approached by a girl in the toilets and the female bartender winking at me). She fell out with her usual drinking crowd (melodrama strikes again) and was complaining that she's been bored so we had a gossip and a giggle. Talked relationships and bra sizes and general geekery. And although I drank far too much Jack, too fast I escaped a hangover and all I have is the big scratch over my knee where the zip of my boots caught my tights and ripped skin and nylon and caused me to swear a ridiculous amount over.

I've been left alone tonight as the family are off to a party up the road. Not sure what to do with myself. So far I've eaten a pile of potato waffles, watched Monty Python and Treasure Planet. The latter is not bad. I was iffy about watching it what with Treasure Island being one of my favourite books when I was younger and I've not had much luck with film adaptations of books I've loved as a child, see Golden Compass and Narnia. Although Peter Pan and Sweeney Todd turned out pretty good so I guess it ain't all bad. Anyway it was alright, lost its momentum when Silver the cyborg appeared. But I loved it up til then, maybe because Jim was Joseph Gordon-Levitt and the captain was a cat. I had to wikipedia his name, I never remember it and I figured me going 'Jim was that guy, you know he was in 10 things I hate about you and Brick and one time on Numbers and I was like why am I watching this?' but while I was wikipediaing I found this and it amused me so I'm repeating it: Also, the novel portrays Long John Silver as rather more sinister and less of a father figure than does the Disney film.

Talking to the mirror again but it's not listening.

First things first, Em makes the cutest lil drunk. She made me giggle today what with her stating of obvious facts and her loud excitement and I needed a giggle. I've been in a funk. All doom and gloom and being bitter about the world and my solitude in it.

It's been a pretty good week so far and I expected it to be a drag. I've still to face the 9am start on Friday with Mr Robe Man but that's a little while off. I've got two essays to do as well but I think I can do them. It's not as daunting as last year when it was all holy crap it's French. Helps when everything is in English and I actually understand it (although Dolichocephalic? I've got it memorised but forgot what it means).

I walked home from the bus stop tonight, still a little shaky on my feet but sober enough to face my sis, and just as I rounded the corner of my street I looked up and god the sky was pretty. I find it so humbling watching the sky. I used to lie in the road and watch clouds drift by. I was convinced that the sky looked rounder in our area, like a big blue arch keeping me safe. I don't get to lie in the road anymore. Mostly because there's a lot more traffic these days but also because my neighbours think I'm odd enough as it is. But while I trudged home I looked up again and it's still my big blue arch holding me in, keeping me grounded and reminding me that it's ok to be alone. And I can be alone under my own sky because for the first time in a long while I'm happy being me. I imagine the rum had something to do with it but I've been reflecting a lot lately. I always get all romantical around October. Something in the air that just makes me so inclined. Last year it broke me. I was at uni and I hated everything about it. I spent all my time sulking at home even though I did have a number of guys interested in me which was something I couldn't get used to, so I led them on and pushed them away and drove them off one by one. (although the weirdest of them all still occasionally talks to me every so often. And by talks I mean says "so wanna have sex now?"). The sky and the rum freed me a little tonight. I can go to sleep tonight and think "yeah, today was a good use of a day and also my hair looks pretty good."


Yes, I believe in love, yes I'm a dreamer but I'm not alone, there are more of us than you suspect, and we've got bombs, truth and beauty bombs.

Nothing good ever happens after 2am

Especially when you have drunk 3 shots of nail polish.

The shots were free and nobody else was drinking them. I hate to see wastage.

I'm just home from a night out with my Tipsy Pixie, loveliest girl alive and lollypop. I always enjoy the fuzzy-headedness you get after drinking too much, but not enough to be plastered. It's comforting and cosy. I just wish I didn't get awful hangovers. My inclination for depression never helps. Plus theres the waking up to Julie in my face saying "are you drunk? huh? hangover? make out with any BOYS?!?!?!?' Man does that get old fast.

I'm kinda bored, kinda tired and feel like talking to someone but I doubt anyone would appreciate a wake up at this time.

So yeah. No real point to this other than to prove I am coherent after drinking. Yay and such.

Plus I figured it wasn't wise to leave the football rant up too long in case people began to doubt my hardcore geekitude.