January 2004

You and your feet, you’re moving at a steady pace towards the scent of the sea, leading you out of the centre of the city. You and your feet, you’re aching after last night’s spontaneous decision to attend a very small scale party. It’s not just you and your feet aching, but moreso you and your very existence that throbs at the thought of conjuring up, at some point, tangible thoughts. With The Cranberries assaulting your aural senses your feet crush the pebbles below as you walk slowly, in zombie-like manner towards the sea. The strong smell of salt in the air is a refreshing change to the usual city fumes and you only stop walking until the water touches the tips of your shoes.

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My mood is slowly being re-established as something considerably more content than where it was previous to being back in Brighton. Things that were nice to return to were:

• My own space. Living with my mother again just reminded me of how on edge I am constantly on just in case I crease a bedsheet or leave a cup on a surface. It’s refreshing to be able to tidy up at my own pace and live at my own speed.

• Love. Someone who loves you, despite me being the most temperamental, horrible, wicked, impatient lover on this Earth.
• Sex. Getting fucked so nicely that you can barely breathe ’cause you’re dying with excitement.
• Exploring. I’m becoming really interested by the church across the road from me. The silence that is always present in churches is really intriguing, so I took some photos and wandered around in there today, despite being scared of the silent people praying.
• Drunkenness. Six of my housemates are still away, leaving just Amelia and I (we are quite similar) to make our own activities. Last night we got drunk on chocolate and wine and watched Tremors II. I love alcohol.

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