Everything in my room smells of limes, I haven’t taken the bottles out and I’ve only done some 100 words of my essay. Fuckity fuck. Might just spend tomorrow next to the lack pretending to read my textbook and wallowing in (deserved) self pity.
Boyfriend’s off in London seeing Elbow (overpriced O2 gig, I envy him his savings) an the flat seems nigh on dead. Might buy wine, drink myself into a stupor and finally start (and maybe even finish) this witchcraft essay. Or spend hours lying on my back playing Tetris.