'Whenver its real, whatever awaits me'

I had a nap of sorts, one of those states of half consciousness and then I woke up completely and I felt such an acute sense of loss like nothing that I’ve felt so far. It was definite without being solid or sharp. It didn’t come from any particular part of my body, I sort of felt it everywhere I think it’s because it was just loss on its own; unpolluted by denial or regret, just a sad, tender acceptance of an ending. My rational side is cringing but I wouldn’t be surprised if he was leaving the city at the point that I woke up at. I n't know if I beieve in that stuff but I hope sometimes he’ll think of me and miss me. I then had two slices of birthday cake and picked off all the little bits of flake from the rest of the cake. I felt bloated and empty. I don’t like the aftertaste of chocolate; that slight sourness of dairy that’s left clinging to your tongue; it’s too much like regret. I forgot to make a wish this year. My mum had bought these candles for me they were different colours and each one was in the shape of letter and together they spelt out happy birthday. I lit them and then I looked away for a few seconds and by that time they’d managed to melt halfway and they were dripping hot wax onto the cake and melting the cake so I had to blow them out and then once I had I realised I hadn’t made a wish. I wonder what I would have wished for though.

I think i'm making pogress with the ulcer.

I think that in my own crazy, self absorbed way I was in love with him a little.

Fuck it all.

please

putsunflowers on my grave I love them so much.

so fucking what

I care too much about everything and i'm proud. fuck you.

I lied, I still want him. I want him I want him I want him.
*shivers*

I can't have him. I get 30p diegestives instead.

Self absorbed
self sufficient
Self soothing
Self loathing
Self destructive

Here we go

There's a girl her name is Betsy, she lives in the building opposite his. She's on my course.She used to hang out with a friend on his floor but nothing really happened there. She's only almost perfectly lovely. Quiet enough to be sweet and intriguing but quirky enough to be intresting and charming. She's tiny but healthy and seems whole enough to be able to actually participate in a relationip with someone other than herself. Her features are haunted by a slight anxiety or meloncholy that seems to promise understanding and make her all the lovelier.She's experienced enough to be mature and equal but not so much that she's cheap or trashy. She went to a boarding school and did sports. Culturally, socially the're from the same background. She dosn't really socialise much with people in her halls, not very extraverted either. In the next few weeks with nothing to do raely and free of obligation they'll get to know each other better and he'll hoover his room. I'll invite him to my birthday and he'll come because he dosn't feel strongly enough not to and by that time he'll be a lot happier and feel better towards me,the pity will come back. I'll make some sort of move out of depsperaton and hope, and he'll have to say that he can't. I'll press it because that's what I do and because I know why but I want to hear him say it. They might carry on for the summer or agree to get together afterwards when the year starts. He'll have his driving liscence then and he can come into London to see her or he mght even move here. She'll probably be the one to end it or it might go on. She won't let things slide as easily but he'll try this time.

Dear Freud

I'm really curious when this desperate need to connect with he who shall not be named will dissipate. Having discovered the source of the impulse to be of a completely egoistic nature(basically that I'm trying to connect with myself)it seems to reasonable to expect that a conscious acknowledgement of this particular aspect of my self absorption would get rid of the desire.
Desire. That's the real problem.
Seriously, I think (and you, judging by my last few more than lightly flavoured religious posts might agree) that there's the possibility of slipping into eastern philosophy or something. It's Salinger's fault- I'm so fucking impressionable. I've been reading him again for company and comfort from the aches. Aches that are the consequence of desires.
Are we seeing a pattern?
By the by it is truly astounding how enthusiastic my fingers have become, presented with a fresh context in which I can discus my favourite topic: myself.
Really, you surpass all expectations.
Ahh another wrench. Wince,clench, fold, fetal.

onion rings

I'm going to stop trying to control everything.

I really, realy, really want to delete this blog again.
like OMG

cliche

Saturday nights at sainsburys are a new experience. The ice cream freezers are eerily empty,the other aisles are deserted. I have a bottle of diet coke in one hand that I'm taking gulps from and a bottle of hp BBQ sauce in the other. I'm narrating my joy trip around the store in the third person. They're out of the 27p sainsbury's peanuts. That's a shame. I wouldn't have bought any but it's still a shame. I like knowing that they're there. should have bought the 2 litre bottle of diet coke, only 69p more. It gets flat though by the time you get through it. Whiskey would be nice too. I really hate using my ID. I give the aisle where I know the condoms are a mental sneer of contempt just because I feel like I should be more bitter about that element of failure. I stand in line at the front counter where they sell cigarettes and lottery tickets behind a fat, bald, sun burnt middle aged man wearing a cap. The cloth tag of the cap is curled out of the inside of the cap so that it sticks out slightly off the surface of his head. his neck is red and flaky where the rolls of fatty flesh fold on each other. The man behind me keeps nudging me with his basket while he twists his body at badly, carelessly calculated angles to take a good touirsty gawk around the store, see if he can buy anything else. One of those arrogant bastards who're always nudging people with their baskets and pretending not to notice that they did it. I flinch, almost jump. I was nervous enough before the diet coke.I forgot to tell my mum I was going to sainsbury's. I left my phone at home too fuck she's going to call the police or something I can't be arsed for more drama. Maybe I'll just stay here. The man behind me hits me with his basket again.He doesn't show any recognition of the fact. I really want to punch him in the balls. The cashier is retardedly slow.Fat, burnt guy bought something from the deli.It's wrapped up but it's the size and shape of a chicken. My turn. I get a bag but I take the diet coke In my and and put the BBQ sauce in my coat pocket. It takes the cashier him a whole extra second over the norm to hand me back my change. £2.65.
Jingle.

19:41

I miss all my friends.

please

While caught in a tsunami of self loathing and only the purest terror I, in typical Ghada fashion made a desperate and anti climatic attempt to eradicate myself and evidence of my existence by deleting the blog. I really don't think I need to explain how idiotic and ineffective and, worst of all, relief less the impulse or it's manifestation were- I'm allowing myself, in an unusual expression of self- kindness, to keep a hold of some infitestimal amount of integrity having probably handed the greater part of my self respect (packaged determinedly in a 4 page long rant) to an egomaniac. Again, I say greater and not all as a gesture of clemency to my near pureed self esteem and struggling ego which is currently, lets say, on the tender side. It seems though, that the worst of the overdramatized self loathing is over and has been reduced mainly to spontaneous abdominal wrenches that are followed by the need to lie on my stomach with the fan on for a period until the feeling passes or eases enough atleast, for me to put the abomination back up and resume my basic daily functions-
I really need to write up my evaluation!
In other news, I have begun to pursue the crocheting of my 3 metre long, maroon thing in the opposite direction, simultaneously undoing and redoing stitches to give my readopted hobby a quality of fervour not unlike that exhibited by the fanaticism of repetitive, religious ritual. Half laughing(and perhaps, half hoping)at the possibility of clarity and enlightenment being born from obsessiveness,to salvage my mind and deliver me to stoicism and complete detachment.
I have also managed to put my genes to the test and finally answer the pressing question that has no doubt been niggling at the back of everyone's mind for the past 18 (almost 19)-what do you do with 2 brackets?-(the question of whether I burn or tan) with white bordered regions of painfully scorched flesh and an even broader range of tones now making up my complexion. Lovely. Be aware however, there is still a chance might go brown; my hands are showing promising signs, i'll keep you posted.