The weeks are flowing by lousily. Every sequence of seven days just reminds me of the last. There isn't much left to do except strive for perfection. I look at myself and what I've got and instead of moping about it, I do my utmost to try and perfect it. I want snow white, flawless skin, supermodel legs, arms and hips, the perfect hair, the perfect face. I also want to learn how to do the splits. To become the embodiment of flexibility and health. A day or so ago I thought about writing a list of things I once had the sudden strive to do but which were then tarnished by my doubtful mind. To join a dance or fitness class, to write a book, to eat properly even if it meant spending more money. At the moment I like to treat myself to one new thing on a Friday. I have a list of the things I want; clothes, soaps, moisturisers, petty little lovelies to ease an aching mind. Things that just make living so much more enjoyable. I have nothing in life to improve except myself. I know I can never be 6 foot tall or have the body structure or Sasha Pivovarova, but I can try my best with what I do have. Improve it, don't hate it.

I want to be studying journalism by September this year. If I pay off my "debt" with the fuck-asses at college I thought I might be in with a chance. If I find that I have ended up returning £253 of overpaid money and I don't get into the course anyway, I won't be the least bit happy. Seeing as getting a job can take months in itself (Job Centre, you are fucking useless... And nobody gives a shit about your website enough to advertise there), I figured that education is the only way forward. It's a bridge between being stuck in a rut and being stuck in college. Both, I find, can be as hard to bear as the other. I have a feeling they will see me as underqualified for the course. Not that writing so much at home until my fingers bleed is enough to guarantee that I am truly interested in the study. I can only await and hope.