You there! I'm home.

Yes, unfortunately, I have returned to the town of my education. I have to say, it was incredibly depressing to roll into the station this afternoon. More depressing given that in just over 2 hours I had managed to go 49 miles - and I had felt every single one of those miles. Yes, heaven praises Network Shysters: I genuinely don't know how they sleep at night. Bus replacement for half the journey: tolerable; bus from the 1940's: manageable; same price as getting the train the whole way: you're pushing it; doubled journey time: seriously, guys; dirty, mouldy seats: getting slightly irritated now. It went on like that for some time. Excuse me if I sound a little incredulous at the lamentable treatment we all had to go through - but quite frankly I couldn't care less whether I sound like a wounded schoolgirl or not. This 'service' is an absolute joke. I cannot even begin to describe how many things are wrong with the rail network in this country, or at least in the South. Fuck them. You're not having any more of my money - I'm getting coaches from now on; even if they're slower and less frequent, at least you know what you're getting, and the managing director of some little independent firm isn't going to do his utmost to skin you out of every penny you have. 100 miles cost me over £20. Laughable. Absolutely laughable. Not only that, but I had to sit in front of one of those chubby, grandstanding, 'full of the sense of their own importance' cunts. She was obnoxious to the point where the combination of rocking shanty bus and her words made me gag a little in my mouth. Every story seemed to end with her getting the upper-hand on some poor undeserving soul whom she had perceived had committed some atrocity. They were in a club, and some guy got in two of their photos; so she knocked his hat off and had him thrown out. Oh, well aren't you a lovely pile of shit. Not only was her conversation hilariously misguided and full of her own self-importance, but it was held at that level where the person clearly wants everyone else to hear what they're saying. I've never understood this, because surely having to bleat your words so loudly detracts from any meaning they may have had. It's patently obvious that nothing you are saying has any bearing on anyone, and you realise that - so you choose to inflict it upon us all anyway. She did make me laugh though: one of her stories centred around getting annoyed at some guy fawning all over her in a club. She apparently took affront with the way he was "tellin' me 'was gawjus [sic]". Yes, I'm afraid he had crossed that invisible boundary of indiscretion and had managed to offend her mortally. Had you seen her, my friends, you would have had quite the same reaction as me: turning round, making it plain that you've been listening, and laughing uproariously in her face. I'm sorry, I just couldn't tolerate this bare-faced lie. That some thing would want to spend even a millisecond of their life complimenting this guffawing-whale was so utterly untrue that I couldn't let it lie. I very nearly stood up and said: "You know what, 'love', you're the kind of person that makes gay people glad". Alas, as she weighed at least 4x what I did I thought it perhaps better to reserve my scorn for the slightly more subtle weeing-myself in front of her at how stupid she was. The arrogance was just... incredible. I had my headphones in, and my music blaring - after seeing that there was no one else around me - in order to attempt to drown her out. But no! I struck that horrible non-balance where you cannot bear to make it any louder because the tinny, shitty bit-raping headphones will make your ears bleed; but if you turn it down you can still hear the buzzing of a self-satisfied cow-woman. I settled on ears bleeding, but I could still hear her congratulating herself on her brilliance: "Well, it's easy innit? Jus' don't mess wimme". Oh god. Literally. The person who would want to 'mess' with that is quite clearly a saint, and thus would never be allowed to touch her. If indeed it was a her. I'm not sure if they were boobs or just pockets of smugness that the thing kept near them in order to paint their every word with conceit. I don't mean to keep banging on about it, but I felt so nauseated by its very existence that I feel the need to vent on you all. I feel slightly better for having done so.

As for anything else in my life: I've given up on hope and cannot be bothered anymore. I've put too much into several things, and I'm too tired. Oh, yes, that's something - I am keeping a 'sleep journal' (which can be found here if you are at all interested). It seemed pertinent to take a step forward, rather than just blearily stagnating in a pool of my own lethargic self-pity; and I was being pushed - rather easily - in this direction anyway. The idea is that I can figure out what works, and what doesn't. Well, we can safely establish that whatever I did last night didn't work at all, as I didn't fall asleep until the sun was coming up and had to be up like two hours later. I'm so unbelievably tired right now that I'm only still writing because if I don't then I'll fall asleep and my evening will be ruined because I won't want to get up and do anything. Not that I particularly want to do anything, mind, because having recently rediscovered the joy of walking I find myself in a position where this pleasure is prohibited. Not by any tangible restriction, but by the fact that if I chose to walk around where I am now in the middle of the night I would soon find myself on the receiving end of an unwanted knife, or dick, or else I'd just be mugged. Yes, whereas at my home I am quite (read: quite) safe in walking around alone at 2 or 3 in the morning - here that would be suicidal. This displeases me greatly, as walking really does help clear my head when I've got too much going on. Much as Dumbledore's pensieve helps him amalgamate his thoughts in a more streamlined way; so does walking to me. It helps me realise where I should be focusing my energies, and also helps unfog my mind from any perceived issues which I have invented under my own steam. I am not entirely sure what I am to do about this problem, to be honest, and I think it's going to impact negatively on both my mental state and my ability to sleep. I guess those two are somewhat linked, what with one being a product of the other, which in turn is exacerbated by its creation. Wow that's way too confusing for me to process at the moment.

So yes, it's Saturday afternoon and my house is completely deserted: not a soul dost reside here at this moment in time, and I have to say that it's rather lonely. There's something about being in an empty, but shared house, which seems much lonelier than when you're alone in your own home. I like alone-time, love it to be fair, but sometimes it gets a tad boring. I'm waiting on the return of one of my friends, in the hope that she will be able to alleviate this tedium. If I have to grin through an evening of molly-coddling (her sister is here), and vile displays of public affection (her boyfriend is always here) then so be it: I have no other friends at university at the moment (they are all at their homes around the country) and anything is preferable than sitting alone with my thoughts. Hopefully we shall be able to procure a bottle of wine (or six) and then we can get nice and squiffy. She alluded to this being a good idea last night when I spoke to her, and if she attempts to back out then I will plead that she should would do well to not fail on her commitment (even if it was never actually said, I can just pretend it was). I can also use this possibility as an opportunity to use the word 'renege', which always gives me pleasure. One of my friends, two nights ago, said that she "loved listening to me speak" - which I have to say is one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. In terms of things which have made me smile this year, I think I can now compile a list of the top three memorable ones:

1. When someone said they were smitten with me.

2. When someone I know fell over on the ice, and I found this unbelievably funny for no reason whatsoever. It was one of those brilliant situations where you laugh more than is necessary, and then end up crying with laughter at the fact you're still laughing. One of those where the joy only stops when you can no longer breathe and your ribs hurt.

3. When someone said they "loved listening to me speak". I have absolutely no idea why anyone would ever say that to me; especially because at the time I was so unbelievably smashed off my nut. I had been blithely attempting to guide a friend into confessing her unrequited love to her best friend - with a mixture of logical application of argument, and pathetic emotional prodding - and was ranting nonsensically about something, when they said it. It was particularly sweet given that I had been rambling for such a long time that I had forgotten what my analogy was meant to lead into. You know when you start telling an analogous tale in order to bolster your argument, and because your argument is so frail you forget how the tale is meant to add as a supporting adjunct? Yeah. One of those. It was great. There's also the added bonus that my vocabulary goes from 'quite good' to 'abysmal' when I've imbibed to much of the filthy intoxicant. I always, always, always end up stumbling blindly over words which should fall out of my mouth. I'll be talking and then I'll forget the word for 'walking' or something. So yeah. No idea why they thought it, but appreciated for its sincerity nonetheless.

Incidentally, because I'm not walking at this moment, those three are not in order of their gravity. Lolity. Lolita. Why is the spelling suggestion for that 'polity'? What the hell is that supposed to mean?

I can't be bothered to write anymore. Go away.

----------

Oh god that's so good. Life is so good sometimes. I haven't eaten... since like 7pm yesterday (that's 24 hours) and I'm really rather peckish now. I also have a horrendous headache. But my housemate came into my room earlier and offered me Chinese food for dinner GOD I WISH I COULD DO THE FUCKING HEART.