I hate being stuck at home on a Friday night. Home home I mean. Uni home isn't so bad.
Everybody else is out. Everybody still at uni. Everybody who's parents didn't move to the middle of the countryside where they know nobody. Everyone is celebrating or partying. And I'm stuck here. Alone.
Can't stand music practice anymore. I've got so bad I just can't face it. Shame with a concert on Tuesday. No more letters to write. No more housework to do. Barely 30 pages of my last book left. Nobody to call - they're all out. Nothing on TV to watch. Too dark now to go walking. Nothing left to do on the internet. Just feel like a bit of a loser really, nothing but me and my computer.
The really pathetic thing is that I'm not having any real emotion: just boredom and lethargy and frustrating. Nothing worth writing about. Back when I was bitter and twisted and angry and self-loathing and I had soul then I could write. I wrote dark, twisty, horrible things that yanked on the heart strings and called out to people. Things that still call out to me now. Now I'm nice and sensible and I only feel that way when I'm drunk - too drunk to play the guitar really. I write about sadness and it has no soul in it; I write about love and it sounds cheesy. So now I don't write. One of my biggest joys and I sacrificed it with some pills for the sake of being normal. Maybe if and when things end with OtherHalf I'll come off the pills and get my soul back. Drink a bit, cut a bit, get a little messed up and write things to make the blood run cold.
Not long til results now. Less than 10 days. Feel a little sick. It's stupid. We all know I fucked up, we all know I didn't fuck up so bad I won't get a 2:1. All that's left is a matter of pride, and they don't even release the exact marks for 2 weeks - just the initial class list. Still makes me sweat a little to think about it.
I'm going mad here. Can't stand to be at "home". It's not my home, it's never been home. It's suffocating. Just a few more days. A few more days and I can go back to uni.
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