Ok, so my blog is public therefore I can't really whinge at you for reading it. That said, I know you are reading it. Stop reading it. After telling me I was taking your best friend away from "everyone he's ever known" you can have him back, I don't want him, you win - so you don't need to read my blog.

I have tried to be nice to you. I have never given you a reason to be pissed off with me. I was more than willing to be friends with you. For a long time I really liked you. His loyalty lies with you, rest assured. When I told him what you said to me he didn't believe me. He called me a liar. You never had to worry about him being taken away, there was never a choice, I was never competition. I am sorry if I made you feel like that, it was never my intention.

Just so you know, this is not me "playing the sympathy card again" as you said that night 3 of you ganged up on me and tried to get me taken away in an ambulance (I have never been more frightened in my life), I never play any sympathy card because I don't think I do anything that really warrants sympathy.

I have a different blog now, I won't write here anymore, so there is no point in you reading it.

You can have him, he is yours, I am done with the whole messy thing. Once and finally.

I want a new blog right now, but I know you are all so sick of me flitting about, especially since I am so old and boring now.

I don't know if I like love anymore. Sometimes it is sweet and I don't get any greater joy from life, but lately it is just a big pain I am carrying around in my chest.

(8)I do it for the joy it brings
'cause I'm a joyful girl
Because the world owes us nothing
We owe each other the world(8)

(8)Feels like wreckless driving when we're talking
It's fun while it lasts and it's faster than walking
But no one's gonna sympathise when we crash
They'll say you hit what you head for - you get what you ask
And we'll say we didn't know, no we didn't even try
One minute there was road beneath us, and the next just sky(8)

Feminist folk lesbians bring me katharsis in such times.

My gran has cancer. My other nan died of cancer when I was 10. So I thought "100% of my nan's have had cancer."

Then I realised that my mum is adopted, so technically, I have/had another gran in the universe who does not know I exist. And I wonder if she paints, or watches quiz shows, or has cancer.

Then I feel guilty, because she did not want my mum, or me, really. At least not then. (The adoption form said she and my would-be-granddad didn't want a child then). My gran wanted my mum, and me, and is lovely and should not have cancer - even though she has smoked heavily her entire life.

Also boyfriends: what is up with that?

Mine used to promise me romantic trips to Paris and now he's broke most of the time. I write him letters and emails and get back diddlysquat. Also he did class A drugs behind my back and then swore on my life he did.

But the fact I said diddlysquat has cheered me up a little bit.

Apparently I don't watch enough movies because I am totally NOT desensitized to HARDCORE CINEMA SEX in cinemas... sex... and as a result I sprung a pretty big (girl) boner which made me feel like the BIGGEST perv in the world. Worth £5.85 of anyone's money IMO naw mean?

I really want to blog again and might start a new one. Jus cuz something needs to come about of these horrid words that are too plenty for Twitter and too rubbish for proper publication.

I also lost nearly 7lb. I don't know how or why.

Until I have somewhere else to post these, I'll log them here:

[Handwritten] Dear Hannah,

[Typed] Thank you for your recent submission to Clare Alexander, which we have considered with care.

We regret that since we have such a full list we are only taking on a handful of new clients each year. These are manuscripts we truly fall in love with, and unfortunately this was not the case with your own submission.

We wish you good fortune with your work in the future,

With best wishes,

[Squiggled line]
On behalf of Clare Alexander

This one seems meaner than the others, but I will keep trying. Paying for postage is cheaper than smoking, so I can justify it as a habit if ever it feels like I'm truly getting nowhere.

I want to wake up somewhere that is not Colchester, Essex, England every morning for the rest of my life.

I don't remember ever being in so much pain. I have never had my heart broken from so many different people at once.

I just literally have had enough. Literally, literally, literally.

Fuck.

So many of you are familiar with this right now.

I'm not blogging here because someone is reading it who I didn't want to read it.

Sorry guys, I'm sick of it too.

I'm sick of a lot of things and that's why I've chosen to break up with my boyfriend.

As always you can email me anytime (xerography at gmail dot com), and I'm happy to be penpals (though am VERY bad at it).

Hannah x

I'm working on the synopsis of my novel in the computer lab.

I've just spotted my philosophy tutor standing outside (it's fucking cold) draped in a flag wearing a read bandana on a stall marked "rally for Gaza". No one is signing his petitions.

I would go down and hang out but
a) I need to finish this fucking thing and
b) He gave me a 2:1 instead of a first on my last essay

It's times like this I am glad there is not such a thing as Heaven and Hell, else I'd be feeling the heat right now.

Counselling went well.

I don't know what to say about it. I spoke a lot about things I didn't know were bothering me. I went all the way back to secondary school, mum and dad breaking up, the drug and alcohol addictions I have seen... I was expecting just to talk about university. Quite a fair bit on not eating too.

My counsellor said things like "gosh", "how horrible", "that's a lot to cope with". No one has said these things to me. People have made me feel like I am being upset about nothing. Recently I have been called childish and my anxiety attacks or floods or tears have tried the patience of everyone. It was NICE to talk-talk-talk (I didn't think I would talk) and hear someone gasp at the things I have been carrying on my shoulders.

Some parts were cliche. When talking about my eating disorder I would say how infuriating it is that the best thing a girl can be is beautiful, because I can't be, and her saying "beautiful is not the picture, it's the person". I could have gagged but I didn't, because it was nice and I needed it and yes it's cliche but at least she bothered to say it. No one has been saying anything.

I was hoping she would prescribe me drugs for everything, so I could glide through it and wake up three years later with a degree. I tried to play ADHD so I could get drugs to help me concentrate and stop daydreaming but she's too smart and I she said she is going to work on my anxiety attacks first. Besides I guess taking handfulls of drugs makes me as bad as the people who've hurt me by doing the exact same thing.

She also said "well done for coming" which was also nice and not patronising, because she noticed I've been putting it off since I was 14.

I don't know what I will get from this, but it's calmed me down and so far I have not had any anxiety attacks.

I don't think this will make sense to anyone unless they're from England and most specifically East Anglia.



So true :'[

Though I love tiptree. :]

The joke continues. It looks like my nan could have lung cancer. I guess I can't blame the universe for this one because she used to chain smoke up until very, very recently. It seems a bit shit to lose two nans to cancer, but also I remember how bad my mum dealt with losing my granddad (who died of a stroke) and I don't know if I'm strong enough to hold her up a second time.

I don't know how much I blogged about it but I used to have two bunnies called Oskar & Oreo who I had to give up at the start of university. The girl who has been taking care of them has had nothing but bad luck and so she is going to rehome them so I am stressing something awful that they're going to end up in a terrible place and die horrible deaths.

Lately I keep getting flashes of anger where I think "actually this fucking sucks". At the same time I am getting better at not giving a shit. Or pretending to myself.

I have counselling tomorrow. I've been prescribed it since I first got sick with not-eating when I was fourteen and have always resisted. This time I volunteered myself. From what I hear it is bascially someone listening to you go on and on about how shit your life is and then going "and how did that make you feel?" Like shit, obviously, hence the counselling. I really hope it exceeds my expectations. I also hope it does not take down whatever brick I have placed up that is shakily holding me together and I turn into a crying wreck again.

I want someone to buy my fucking book, no longer for love of literature or bettering the world and people's perspectives but so I HAVE MONEY TO MOVE OUT OF THIS SITUATION IN GENERAL.

I would very much like to run away.
Very much. Very, very much.

Cruel tricks the universe has played on me today:

• Sent my much needed (swiftly diminishing overdraft) student loan to the WRONG university
  
• Designed a "fun" Facebook app where you are made to answer random questions on random friends on which my boyfriend's face popped up next to the caption "has he ever done cocaine?"
  
• Created major hold ups with the print at work so spent the second half of my day on fast-forward
  
• Pissed rain into a large puddle I stepped in on the way home from work
  
• Generally made my life a misery
  
  But alas! Tomorrow is another day, and I'm sure it shall be as miserable and poverty-filled as the last (I start my counselling Wednesday, so you can expect less of this tosh).
  
  Ps. I fuckin' love Eugene Hutz both music and acting! One thing to be proud of is I am having good musical discoveries lately. Google/gogol him!

I wish the superforce of Jonathan Safran Foer and Nicole Krauss would stop infuriating people. It doesn't help that he comes across like Rain Man in his interviews (or that his agent rejected me), but to claim your house needs a FLOOR PER CHILD in the current financial crisis is certainly no way to gain fans.

Lol.

I have received 2 cheers from users of 43things.com for my thing number #20 : masturbate daily. Sadly there is not the time or the inspiration.

Serious business and a very weird question: does anyone have any animal skulls they could donate to me? I want to start using them to paint on. I have my beautiful fox cub skull still (though the poor baby has lost a tooth). So if you happen to run over your cat by mistake - think of me!

Also something I've been wondering if I should stop doing is living in my imagination. 90% of my life I am imagining. Whenever I am not in a direct conversation I am usually imagining speaking to someone (sometimes made up, sometimes not) and imagining all kinds of wonderful lives for myself where I can literally just write, draw and CREATE all day. This has been the way I function for as long as I can remember. Any time I am walking somewhere I am not in my own head. I have no idea if this might be why I suffer depression at the state of my life at present because it is not all rolling around in meadows and having philosophical chats with librarians that don't exist and lots of lovely people with guitars and books.

I like people with books!

I am going to try and rehash my synopsis because it is horrible to read and if agent's are reading it before my sample chapters then it's not surprising I'm getting rejections.

Handwritten this time and signed by the person I sent it to as opposed to someone completely random working for the same company.

Hi Hannah,

Many thanks for sending me an extract from your novel. I enjoyed what I read but I'm afraid don't [sic] think this is right for my list.

Best of luck finding a suitable agent.

Yours, Hannah Westland

Happy NY.

While you're partying in a different county I'm in your feeling like I swallowed a litre of sand. I saw in the New Year with a coughing attack so strong I threw up in one of your towels. I should just hang it up in your bathroom again - it's what you deserve, but knowing me I'll be up first thing in the morning doing your laundry, trying to disappear before you make your hungover journey home.

Who walks out on their sick, crying girlfriend on NYE? Was I really that hard to want to spend time with?

I heard the London fireworks from your room. It woke me up. I thought the sky was falling in. I hoped to miss the divide of 2008/9, I hoped I'd fade into it like it was just another day.

Yesterday you read the Little Prince to me while pressed flowers dropped out from the pages that had preserved them and their dusky colours since I’d squashed them there as a child. It was the second to last day of the year and it felt enchanted with the same kind of magic that possesses the last glittering grains of sand in an egg timer, crumbling towards the centre of the drop.

“Read me a story!” I’d begged him, swaddled in a spare duvet sipping cough medicine from a sticky spoon you held up to my lips. “The Little Prince!” I chose, before you could even ask.

I liked how your reading voice rumbled through my body when our shoulders were pressed tightly together and how when I looked at your face you would get distracted, and the fluency of your reading would disintegrate.

In that story I'd forgiven everything. The cocaine, the lying, crushing of our plans. I was feverish, and glad for your cool hand which you pressed against my forehead with concern. Then today you took off. "I'll leave you," I said, but your mind was made up.

</3

It seems to be a tradition that I am miserable on New Years Eve. I can't remember a single enjoyable one, and tonight has been no exception (and it's only quarter to seven... surely a record). I recall my drunken entry of last year that I wrote in a similar manner - in front of the monitor with tears streaming my face. This year I do not even have the good fortune of being drunk.

My boyfriend has decided that after promising to spend our first NYE with me that he would rather go to a party with his sister which he has for months been telling me he reeeeally doesn't want to do. I am SICK, with flu. I can't move from bed. My phone has died. I am in the flat, ALONE. I will not see another human being until 2009. It was meant to be a special night, I could do with looking after, but alas... he decides to go.

I gave him an ultimatum. All this month he has cancelled our plans for his family, to make them happy. I told him if he goes to this, to please his sister leaving me ill in bed on our first NYE all on my fucking own then it's over. He hums and hars for a good couple of hours and goes, saying "I'm sorry, I'll really miss you."

I just spent that last half hour screaming "PLEASE COME BACK!" at the front door, but it's not opened.

So I'm going to pack my things up and leave and plan what to do with the rest of the winter break, and wonder: "Has anything ever hurt this much?"

He would really rather do that than be with me. I can't feel my fucking heart.

Just fuck.

I had a dream about Dan (or Daniel, allowed only by me) in which we both did not ignore each other and chatted, as friends. I had forgotten him. Now it all hurts again.

"Dan (All Neon, All Surface) is blocking you. (What's this?)" from his Flickr a few seconds ago.

Since PlasticBottleGate in early 2007 we've not spoken at all. You'd think I'd be over it by now.

But then I think of us lying wrapped up in a blanket on my kitchen floor, horribly drunk, vodka + Kick in my hair, Jessica Alba on his phone (he apologised) and him telling me... whispering to me "you're my best friend." And he meant it. He MEANT it. Like no one has meant it before.

We connected through everything, saved each other at a time we were both reeling from heart break.

And then he threw a bottle at my head. And he called me bitchy. And I said no, no I'm not. And we never spoke again.

How do two people do this?

From his Flickr I can see he was at the same Radiohead gig Simon was at and it hurts that two parts of my life would collide without me and feels like the world going round without my control.

I miss him so much. I hate that he blanks me when he sees me, even when I smile. I hate that he still goes to the cinema alone, a year on, because he lost his best friend.

:(

I have been having panic attacks most mornings for the last couple of weeks and have been dealing with overwhelming depression where I've been crying in university. I am getting pains in my chest and finding it hard to breathe. Reasons:

• My student loan has not come through, I have £40
  
• I need to pay £1,045 to the university on 28th November but can't afford it
  
• My mum has just bought my brother a Jack Russell puppy. I am reading everywhere it will kill Peekaboo, so I am probably going to have to witness his murder or rehome him.
  
• I hate university and have no friends there
  
• I am living in a place that I am very unhappy at
  
• I have to hand an essay in tomorrow that is no where near completion
  
• I am lonely as fuck
  
• My ED is coming and going
  
  I really can't breathe right now but it feels like an anxiety attack rolled into something else. I am in a lot of pain. My doctor won't give me anything for anxiety or depression, apart from counselling which I am too self-confident to accept.
  
  I do not know what to do. I am really thinking "for fuck sake give me a break". I came back from a lovely weekend at Simon's ready to hold my head high and wade on through this but have just learned of the Jack Russell and probably having to give Peekaboo away.
  
  I deserve something good. I have been near-suicidal for seven weeks now and I can't take anymore. I am literally thinking of praying to god or something to help me get through this. But it never does. I end up praying, and wishing and trying to magic myself something good. I cannot cope with this I am really stretched to breaking point and do not know what the fuck to do.

Haha! Poems on the Underground is usually an annoying waste of advertising space - dedicated to the archaic and dull. However the other day I saw a poem I really liked, but forgetting the title decided to check the POTU archive and found some real gems.

Whoever is London Underground's connection to the project is either really oblivious to metaphor or highly witty. I was shocked to learn Blake's 'The Sick Rose' featured. The common interpretation being that a young girl is violently and passionately deflowered (with the invisible worm being phallic).

O Rose thou art sick.
The invisible worm
That flies in the night
In the howling storm,

Has found out they bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does they life destroy.

Risque!

Also featuring - 'I have a gentil cock' (no I'm not making this up...)

I have a gentil cock
croweth me day
he doth me risen early
my matins for to stay

I have a gentil cock
comen he is of great
his comb is of red coral
his tail is of jet

I have a gentil cock
comen he is of kind
his comb is of red sorrel
his tail is of inde

his legs be of azure
so gentil and so small
his spurs are of silver white
into the wortewale

his eyes are of crystal
locked all in amber
and every night he pertcheth him
in my lady`s chamber

I'm not even sure the POET knew how ambiguous that was :P but oh dear, I can't imagine feasting my imagination on that lovely ditty first thing on a morning commute.

If you're interested, the archive can be found HERE.