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wake up feeling like i want to abandon all ideas of having a 'career' and start a bakery or dessert house

in my possession: 6-7 books, 6-7 notebooks (2 full, 1 in use, 4 unused), 1 2012 diary, 2 digital cameras, phone, laptop, ipod, clothes, 2 balls of wool, 4 crochet hooks, 1 pair knitting needles, 3 pairs of shoes, 2 scarves. makeup. £200 cash.

feel like i want to write a collection of short stories about travel, but i wouldn't even want to read that maybe

just cut short a panic attack as i have work in the morning

get heavily invested in a mini series of 'great expectations' / "the agony of a broken heart is exquisite. you want to die but you just keep living, day after day" - miss havisham

wondering how you felt that night

begin to understand how fully you can miss a place, start seeing the next couple of months unfolding in europe,

but it always feels like i'm here, writing

remembering airport desperation

feel bemused by liberal and serious use of terms of endearment in couples

like having my tea made without people asking me how i like it, feels nice to have someone else in control of that

getting good at listening to old people via all the people who live in my auntie and uncle's village

just thinking that 'dishwater gray' - specifically with an a, not an e - really describes my emoshuns right now

want to be reading but to not have my eyes doing the reading

vivdly transport myself back to mundane 2011 things like rummaging for my student card in my bag to get into the lab at uni or looking out for the bus on johnston street

international text messaging

trying to count to 30 in french to get to sleep, no way of knowing if i got it right

welsh accents...