So....
In a bid to mentally recover from recent events and to sort out my fucking finances, i thought it might be a good idea to move home for a few months, to get myself together. However, i clearly did not think this through at all. In my head, i thought it wouldbe quite easy to condence all my stuff down into my small room @ home.... but instead i have biggets mountain of what can only be described as 'stuff' covering every inch of floor and spare surface. It makes me cry to think about my poor poor shoes locked away inder a moutain of old 69 magazines, computer stuff, cameras, and other random things.
I'm giving myself two months to turn myself around. By my birthday at the start of October, i want to have sorted out my finances (easier said than done...), sorted out money for rents etc, sorted out my dance jobs in Leicester and be back living in the city with someone that is the binary opposite of a certain glasses-wearing uberbitch that fucked us all over. The last thing i want is to get stuck here. I love my parents to peices and it's great living with the model Emma Hurst but.... i'm living with my parents. And i'm nearly 24. Twenty fucking four.
Fingers Crossed..
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