Since today has mainly consisted of studying, being a walking and breathing nervous breakdown and listening to british new wave while dancing in my room alone in skimpy shorts and a cropped t-shirt (talk about being inspired by unimportant 80's teenage movies), I promise to drink a glass of wine or two or three or four tomorrow night. Saturdays were made for that. Especially those that remind you of real Summer Saturdays. I hope tomorrow night will, this rain is making everything ten times duller.

Goodnight everyone. If I weren't an atheist, I'd say God bless you.

Late Spring in the suburbs, concrete, Bob Dylan turning 70 and me staying 19, yacht owner's jacket and australian boots, occasionally feeling quite lovesick, tight jeans and studying in neo-renaissance libraries.

I rediscovered Charles Bukowski today at the library while trying to take a break from payne fund-studies analysis, he's breathtaking.

I can't sleep but I've learned to wake up early again, I mistake Winter winds for signs of Spring and I'm in love with faked independence.

I emptied my closet this morning and covered the floor with corduroy and flannel and cotton. I've been trying to get rid of half of my stuff and give things away but I'm not succeeding much. I get attached to everything so easily.

"Winters are always hard"

"But this winter's been treating me quite good."

"No it hasn't. Winters are all always hard. You won't notice it until summer comes, but when it comes, it hits you: how easy everything becomes once it's here."

Learning how to breathe in the midst of Winter and all that's destroying my happiness is hard.

Because I love new beginnings and because I hate permanence.

And because my head aches from replacing sleep with phonecalls that are so long and exhausting that they turn my voice into one of a callgirl.