In two weeks I will go to Nottingham. I will go on my own. There is no specific intention. I just need to go outside. I have written this in my diary, so it will be happening. The H2 channel has a programme on about radioactive cows. The H2 channel is brilliant.

I’ve bought a Victorian-esque brooch from eBay. I usually attach brooches to my bag, but they always seem to fall off and then I am heartbroken forever, or until I find a new one. I have a new one. It isn’t an owl shape, but it is some kind of shape. I shan’t attach it to my bag. I should attach it to a blazer. I don’t have a blazer. I need to buy a blazer. I adore the colour grey. I will buy a grey blazer. I’m going to Nottingham in 10 days, I will buy a grey blazer then.

I’m supposed to be going to Nottingham next weekend. I’ll be buying a grey blazer, and my plan is to rummage in all of the charity shops. Nottingham is pretty big and there are loads of charity shops so I should be able to find one. Although Long Eaton has a load of charity shops too, and I only have to walk around the corner to get to them. Thursday night is karaoke night on the high-street and Elvis Presley vibrates the walls of my house. We’re that close. I have to get the bus to Nottingham. It’s not too much distance, but it is some kind of distance. It’s a big place. Bigger than me.

I’ve been thinking about my trip to Nottingham in a few days. I’m not sure whether I’ll go. There’s so many charity shops round the corner, that it doesn’t seem worth the bus fare. I might go to Nottingham though, I haven’t really been in a while, on my own. I could get a smoothie. There is a Costa in Long Eaton though, so it is more metropolitan than it used to be. We only ever used to have one coffee shop, and now there’s two. Not that I am bothered about metropolitanisation or post-modernism or how the largest Tesco in Europe somehow doesn’t seem so impressive. You know what I mean. Oh, it’s not the biggest any more? That’s really interesting.

For example, I was going to Nottingham tomorrow, but I don’t like to go outside. It just seems so… I will just try to go to Long Eaton, if that. It’s just so big and busy, I worry on public transport, and I can’t count change when there’s a queue. My purse is so full of change that I literally have to pay with change all the time, but God I hate paying with change so I just don’t go out. It isn’t the only reason. My manager called me a nervous wreck today. People in cafés ask me questions and I can’t hear them properly, and then I panic, and they’ll think I’m odd if I burst into tears over some fucking teacake. I’ve told so many people the same things that the whole world is as bored with my lifelessness as I am. I have baths and drink alcohol, but there’s still Elvis ruining my Thursday nights. If it’s pills or therapy I only have one option, personally, personally. There’s nothing left so we’ll start the list again. I seem to snap so very easily. I’ll try to make it to Nottingham, you faultless cunt.

I don’t think I’ll go outside today. I can’t, I can’t move. It seems easier to sleep. There’s a crack in the wall which gives the house some sort of character that it doesn’t deserve. I’m getting up now. I won’t make a smoothie this morning because I feel too sick again, but cereal bars and coffee are welcome. I’m starting to realise that I’m narrating in my head because it provides some logical justification for the avoiding of my diary entry. I have nothing taped this morning to watch. Soccer AM is on which is a relief as I haven’t overslept ridiculously. My Dad will be watching Soccer AM in his house. If he hasn’t got dressed yet, I’m alright to not do it either. I’ve reverted to the H2 channel but it’s too early for them to be silly and I am disappointed.

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