Still in my makeup at half past two... wanting to shake the feeling of you.

I adore You. Caps lock. Deliberate use on Y. I didn't mean to, or even want to, but I do and now you love another one. Damn. Is it because I'm fat? Tonight... today. Forever. I am the Lady of Shallot, I stare into that mirror but instead of the world I simply see everything wrong with me. And there is a lot, too much to bore this blog with, I'll probably touch on it at some future point anyway.

The lady of shallot stares into a broken mirror that reflects the world, undermined because if she sees this world in reality, she'll die.

And I suppose... I am like that. I reflect all of my thoughts onto others; such as... Innundate. If I take her to my house, my Mum will see just another middle class yuppie expressing emotion through song. She'll hate her and think I'm a loser for hanging around her.

Innundate will think that my family hates her and is unreceptive to change.

See. Both my views, reflected in Innundate and family, and probably not what they would actually think at all. My family would think what an interesting, lovely girl Innundate is. And Innundate would think how... how rural? No. Too overt in patronisation. How very... jovial. And I don't know what else. Maybe she would only patronise because her Mother never could be jovial or homely or interesting, so she'd better patronise instead of seem lacking.

Oh, my love, though our bodies may be parted, though our skin may not touch skin.

I am not a stalker. I am not kidding myself, in any recesses of my mind, that she would ever want me back. The wanting is all mine. I do disgust myself, I am the head rat in The Rats, spawning horror and making it return to my flaccid white belly that is encased in a layer, a shell, a crustacean of filth.

Why is it that all I can think of is how horrendous I am and how I want her?

Because she made you briefly seem not so horrific. I don't know the other, but bear in mind you were like this with the other two. It'll take time, is all.

I've actually stayed within my count for today. Not that it makes any difference to the girth of my flaccid, white belly.

It might eventually. If I hadn't imbibed quite so much.

I can feel my thigh and knee flesh against each other.

The other thing is too horrible to think of (failing at the degree, the only thing you've ever been halfway decent at, and hence failing at life, from then on, failing to ever be happy). So.