My vandalised, sorry, personalised cover of my little sketchbook. WHSmith thought 'may your dreams take wing' was a cute thing to write on the front of it so I replaced 'dreams' with 'sanity' because hey, I'm not a fucking cliche okay. I definitely am tragic and that is what I aim for. Eurgh, bludgeon me over the head with a football trophy. I am having a fun Saturday evening singing along with Bonnie Tyler. It feels like New Year's Eve all over again. Funny story, that. I can't concentrate on the Right Things, so I'm rubbing out charcoal into diamond shapes. An obvious progression. I'd quite like to go out tonight and drink some rum. I was thinking earlier about how the only thing magazines are good for is ripping up. Also how stupid blogs are, and how I hate bloggers. (I know.) But I mean, really? You have to delight in that nobody cares. The things I hate are the things I love.
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