Generally I just strip and dance naked. I find it liberating.


I need to learn that when I say something as a joke, I make clear that I am joking. My entire 17th Century Lit class thinks I'm a raging lesbo feminist who one day is going to run through campus burning my bra in one hand and Paradise Lost in the other.

Things are getting better.

It is a sunny day, warm and heavy, but the image in the reflection of the huge windows is wearing tight fitted black jeans, teamed with black canvas loafers and a white tshirt. A make up less face is hidden by cheap imatation wayfarers that hide tired eyes. Loose, messy unkempt curls frame her face and a bottle of water is held in one hand. There's another girl, her reflection stood near my own wearing simple jeans and a black tshirt, her hair slightly messy and her face tired.

Sleepless, we saunter slowly through streets familair yet rarely trodden. I am aware our appearance stands out amongst the tracksuits and the mix off cheap rubbish with designer sports wear, among the mums with too many ragged children and the overweight locals and old people who shuffle slowly down the old cracked streets.

Clearly hungover, I look like some celeb or rock star doing the morning after look, with my shades and scruffy yet somehow stylish outfit composed of what I found laying on the floor. 

In the bakers, we speak of the night before, the ills suffered lifting as we re-evaluate the highs to rid ourselves of the lows. 

The lady next to us glares, obviously disaproving. Unfazed, I turn to look straight at her, challenging with a blank sunglasses-stare. She looks taken aback, so I smile to shock her futher and hold back a laugh as she scurries away. 

It amuses me that amongst the degenerates and vandals in this little town, I, a girl with messy hair and a hangover hiding behind shades and a monochrome outfit, could be a threat.

Ironic that two of the few decent beings to come out of this downtrodden nowhere place would be shunned by the little old ladies who tut as
they pass us. 

We are better than this place, I muse. My companion nods in agreement.

Lined on the kitchen counter, and gosh knows how many cans of beer. How much beer can seven people drink between them in one night? A lot more than you'd think apparently, my kitchen is really full of empties. 

It was fun though, nice to finally have a night of from work and just kick back with friends. Plus we watched Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire so I could moon over Spunk, looking all cute as Cedric. Yum Yum. 

I did feel bad that I didn't see Luke, I know he's getting stressed that I don't see him often, but I've been working so much that when I finally got time off, I wanted to chill out with my friends.

I don't know, sometimes I sit down and think, what am I doing? I am doing right? 

Anxiety kicks in and sometimes it gets hard to to stop. But I have to remember that I'm eighteen.

Such a small number, when you think about it.