The Day I Failed at Revision (again)

3.30am last night found me sat on my own on the Downs, staring up at the moon and feeling sorry for myself. Luckily Jack came to rescue me, and then had to put up with my emo whinging, for which I can only apologise. The basic jist of this whinging, for anyone out there who is in the least bit interested, was that I worry that I'm never going to be content with anything, because for some stupid reason I never appreciate the good things I have, and find myself seeking out things that are a bit more risky, rather than what I know will make me happy. It's as if my mind works out the course of action that will logically result in the greatest happiness, mulls it over for a while, then thinks "nahhh, that's way too easy". I also seem incapable of learning from past mistakes. But enough of that.

I woke up today feeling sick and hungover, and it has pretty much only just worn off. Alcohol is the work of the devil, I tell you. It also led to me asking a barmaid if she would sleep with the guy standing next to me, because he told me that he was hoping if he waited around long enough then she would. Oh dear. Plus I'm a bit worried about my heart, it keeps beating really quickly for no reason, and both last night and when we were at Ramshackle last week I had to go sit down for a while because I felt like I was having palpitations.

I feel like I should put something happy and cheerful now to make up for all the moaning. I made spaghetti bolognaise, and it was tasty... Also Laura Marling is well good.