I think I would throw all my grandiose dreams and aspirations away to live in a tree-house. I'm tired of this wireless internet, running water bollocks. It has taken me five hours to wash my bedsheets this morning and they are not even dry yet. Life is a mountain rescue unit which has given up searching for me. To combat my inability to afford festival tickets I am chain-drinking coffee and pretending to write. The story I am writing is pretending to be about three unemployed students. It's a mystery where I get my inspirations.
Happier Things: Abandoned warehouses covered in graffiti, heart-shaped bracelets full of inspiration, Dirty Dancing, drops of water hitting electric oven hobs, writing on bedroom walls with chalk, cowboy boots.
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