I feel like smashing my head down and dropping into a deep sleep instantly. Not for the action of smashing my head, but just because that's what happens when I lean forward and let go of the tension in my neck; when I try to relax.

I'm not supposed to be tired. And I'm not supposed to have so many thoughts race through my head simultaneously, especially not seeing all the thoughts are so ridiculously unrelated.

I keep thinking of the fact that I have never, in all the nineteen years that I've had the chance to, heard my parents tell each other that they loved one another. Never.

My mind keeps imagining what next year will be like, I keep making plans and mixing them up with my current daily activities. I have been offered a place at Durham University to study music, and I've been offered a place at Bristol, University of the West of England to study BioMedical Sciences. But on the condition that I obtain an average of 7 for music and 8 for BioMedical Sciences. Whatever that means. (Two Nottingham universities have contacted my former school, my current school and me, asking for 'the predicted grades in the subjects I am studying at present', for both Medicine and BioMedical Sciences. Fuck off.) I await receiving further information concerning my other applications.

There is a restless source within me, deep inside my centre, which seems to be perpetually boiling and bubbling with some kind of emotion provoked by the fact that I will be meeting up again with the friend I spoke of fifteen days ago coming Sunday. I am excited. We have the strangest kind of fun together, intertwined with the most ridiculously profound kind of conversation. We leave the planet when we're together. Perhaps that is why I am excited; I'm not excited because I'll see him again. Or at least I don't think so. I never used to be.

Another part of me keeps strangely drifting virtually between the real world � or my day to day life, rather � book contents and my disturbed will to do things other than things that I must do.

I hope you are okay. I've been thinking of you continuously, my thoughts like a veil draped over the entirety of my mind.

I want to send my parents off for a weekend, organise a bungalow for them in the middle of the woods or on top of a mountain... At least somewhere where there's a lot of nature and they can zoom off to the weekend after Christmas on the motorbike. But then I'll have to pay. How am I going to do that? And how am I going to make sure they're both available that weekend?

And then my mind spirals around what I miss about Y., the things that have happened lately and the bizarre situation created last Friday night when he was forced to casually say hello to me during a birthday party. He flourished my cheeks with three kisses. The same way he'd done with all other females in the room, only he didn't look me in the eye. Didn't say anything. Didn't pause to receive a welcoming. He held his breath. And went on to the next.

But when I left, he looked at me. The complete sadness covering his face when he realised I was leaving pained me deeply and made me want to scream and shout, shaking him about, then come after me and talk, you indignation-causing lizard! And at the same time I was submerged by the obvious but incomprehensible impossibility of it happening, of him actually coming after me and acting justly. His presence has haunted my soul ever since. And it seems like it never even occurred to him that I am still existent, it seems like he doesn't consider me worth wasting his brain cell activity on. But I should know that is not true.

Time has flung its glove down to my feet, and I have picked it up.

Happy birthday pianist, you, from six years ago, who I loved and let touch my maiden body. Five years ago today I came to visit you in the caravan you were forced to live in, in your abusive step father's garden, to give you a dark, red rose. (She was there, the nineteen year old whom I thought was much too young for you � paradoxically, as I was younger still � and you told me you'd been hanging over the toilet, heaving up the contents of your stomach for hours and hours, crying, the night before, which you had spent with her, because you missed me that intensely.)

You are a year younger than a very dear friend of mine. That is such a queer prodigy, such an unearthly thing to realise.

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I feel so