Everything makes me feel sick.
Seeing photos of you and her actually made me throw up last night.
The fact that I turn 21 tomorrow makes me feel ill.
These essays make me sick with worry.
Applying to graduate jobs make me want to vomit.
The realisation that I have nowhere to live after uni makes me gag.
I am going back to north London today. I am stopping by your house to collect my mail, see your nephews and have a coffee with your mother. This makes me feel sick.
Nausea, not in waves, but constant. I feel it in the pit of my stomach. I feel it in my bones. My heart feels mangled. My body feels broken. You have destroyed me. Again.
Now you thinkin’ ’bout it
Boy you’re thinkin’ ’bout it
What we got here
How we fuckin’ got here
They recognise, they just recognise
I’m in a life without a home
So this recognition’s not enough
See I don’t care about nobody else
Cos I’ve been on these streets for too long
Baby I’ve been on this too long…
A bad start to the day. I had an alarm set for 7am to get up and go to the library to work on my essays, but woke up at midday. Bollocks.
Also, I have run out of sugar and can’t afford to buy any. And my milk has gone off. So, no coffee for Helena this morning/afternoon. Double bollocks.
However, my little brother has absolutely made my day: he’s in the City today for his appointments at Her Majesty’s Passport Office (long story). He subsequently has 3 hours to kill until he can collect his swanky new passport, and so he called me up to say that he was outside Buckingham Palace and was having some trouble crossing the road because of the number of tourists/police/guards on horses. My brother is the funniest man I have ever had the luck to meet, and his little anecdotes absolutely crack me up. So, he’s having a day as a “propa Landaner” and keeps sending me photos of his adventures.
London is TINY. I kid you not, he has sent me a photo of every major landmark in under 15 minutes. And he’s just walking around on foot. But his photographic journey has reminded me how lucky I am to live in such a bloody fabulous City, the best City in the world. We didn’t get to see these things when we were kids cos our parents were too poor/too busy/too ill to take us to such places, so I’m really glad he’s finally being a tourist in his own City.
Let your hair down in London City, everybody just keep movin’ with me, just keep bouncin’ with me, just keep rollin’ with me…
Yesterday, I was sad.
But I finally sorted out all of my meds. I wish I’d taken a “before” picture: what a bloody mess, a huge prescription bag filled with empty boxes and empty blister packets and crumpled information leaflets. Total fucking mess. Now I have the meds I need daily on top of my tobacco tin, and spares in a little Venlalic box. All neat, all tidy, all sorted.