i like mondays.

also i finished my modernism exam early so spent the last 45 minutes counting my words, figuring out my average word count per line and writing a supplementary paragraph about d.h. lawrence’s ‘fear of anality’ because as yeats said back in the day, ‘love has pitched his mansion in/the place of excrement’

i haven’t had to be at the library for three days being that my exams are over so i have been drunk for days. and i will be tonight. and tomorrow. and i am going to stay like this in the sun for a very long time, or at least until i absolutely have to be sober. this is not destructive, just enjoyable. summer is finally making its way to me and if i put aside the minutes this morning where i was not myself i am very happy to be alive.

wake up and walk on the sand in between raindrops, covering and smothering me. this particular peculiar rain tastes of nothing on my tongue, filling up with nothing. this rain is not enough for me, because it is small and cold too shy for me. i need to feel the pain of a warm thunderstorm on my skin, in between layers of clothing and carefully draped over me like home. it isn’t like kissing but like fucking, and as the rain fucks me i understand homesickness. this english rain only knows how to flirt and does not produce the passion i desperately crave. i don’t know how to love this rain. i have loved, and i will love, but i have no idea how to love this.

pink has always been difficult, you see. but it is straightforward to rebel against the pinkness of childhood. it is easier to demand black for all its qualities of subterfuge and mystery. i think that pink is important. the colour of lips, of your lips. the tips of ears in the sun and the flush on the chest and neck when you are exhausted from union. i’m not about to throw out all the black and the grey and the moody blues. but i can taste pink on the tip of my tongue.

nearly cried sitting in the library because grey’s anatomy makes my heart hurt. i am trying to do my modernist revision but it is a little difficult to care. i’m exhausted from yesterday’s exam, the sheer excitement of meeting simon armitage, had a long shift at work and so all i wanted to do was curl up in bed with smazz, which i did. incidentally, i told simon armitage that i loved him and then finished my rambling monologue with ‘…hello.’ i think i lost my mind a little but that’s okay; after the alarming beginning to our conversation we talked about performance poets and self-conscious poetry and etc etc. it was pretty good despite my fangirl moment but now i just want to lie in bed and shun the world for a few weeks. except i can’t do that, so i’m going to sit in the library and watch tv and try my best to focus on my work even though my mind keeps drifting to the incredibly weird and fantastically satisfying position we concocted the other day. it’s a weird kind of grey today even though it’s mostly warm, but i don’t want to be anywhere else.