I gave in.

I made a Tumblr.

I feel so guilty and hypocritical but it had to be done.

www.weexhaleandrolloureyesinunison.tumblr.com

I'm sorry.

they'll name a city after us and later say it's all our fault

It's half four in the afternoon. I'm sitting in my Deerhunter t-shirt and pink shorts with the word "Zzz" printed across them- i.e. my pyjamas- and reading yet another Kurt Vonnegut book (Hocus Pocus) with my new Broken Social Scene album playing for the first time. This is what I spend my time doing when I'm not with him.

I need to get a life. No wonder I bore him.

Went to Camden yesterday. Too little time, too little money and too much ignorance of the place to know where to go and what to buy/do. I put money towards some vinyl. I don't have vinyl player but he does although it's in need of a new needle. We bought Lotus Plaza by Lockett Pundt, the guitarist of Deerhunter, for a tenner. Hmm if I can be bothered later I might go searching for my dad's old collection of vinyl. I swear I could have spent hours in that record shop. I wish I'd taken more photos.

We did however, make a rather startling discovery that I did catch on camera:

There's a Jewish museum. In the middle of Camden. What?

I had a dream last night. The type where you wake up and think it's real, that this is just the day after those events happened. It took me a while to realise it was a dream. I can tell when things are dreams because I can't see people's faces in dreams, I just know instinctively who they are. My head gets their shape right, their hair, their angles, but when it comes to their faces it's just blank. It's just a recognition of a person not an actual person. It never is.

I dreamt he ended it and then treated me the same way as he does now anyway and I was confused and hurt and didn't understand why he stopped it when we were the same as we always are. I thought he was different from all the dicks who played my friends, those who treated them as if they cared and then refuse to acknowledge it.

I woke up and thought we were over.

Then in the fuzzy haze of regaining intelligent conciousness I vaguely grasped that that wasn't true.

Ten months.

Fuck.

pack up all the night's dreams, only to drag them out again

Underage was better last year but Los Campesinos! did a good set, although they were only given a half an hour slot. In comparison to the hour long slot by Jacwob who were utter shit this seems rather unfair. Fucking Jacwob.

Everything seems so forced at the moment. We need to think of something to do, we need to go somewhere, blah, blah, blah. Can't we just be spontaneous? Can't we be lazy and have lie-ins and watch bad movies and bake burnt cakes and take photos of the most mundane things? Can't we sit in parks and drink cider and talk about nothing? I had ideas of things to do but when I'm put on the spot all I want to do is curl up and be quiet. Sorry. I know it bores you. It makes me feel bad too. I've been in too many situations where I feel like I'm not enough for some people.

I think for my depression idea I might do photographs where the subject's face is always hidden, showing how they feel unseen, undervalued, faceless. Should be quite easy to do and there's a variety of things I can do with that. I got the idea from photos such as this:

I bloody love water shots but they're almost impossible to do. I can't take photos at swimming pools and I don't have a camera that can go underwater. I should get one.

I've been spending too much time on people's Tumblr's. It's starting to appeal to me.

Not cool.

so he went crazy at nineteen, said he lost all his self esteem and couldn't understand why he was cry-cry-crying

I almost cried on the train and then felt like the biggest douche ever.

I was sitting listening to my iPod and the annoyingly serene announcer's voice cuts through my music just to say the same things that were scrolling across the mini electronic board that tells you where the train stops at etc. So that bugged me a little.

So I started pondering why they always blast that irritating voice over a sea of people who are worn out and tired and just want a piece of quiet.

Time passed. I watched people.

We pulled into a station and I noticed a man with his back to me had a weird sling sort of thing around his waist that looked like it carried a baton or something. Maybe he was an undercover policeman? He wasn't in uniform or anything.

He pulled an extendible walking stick out from it. Everyone who was getting off at that stop had left as he tapped his stick against the floor of the train. Grasping the handle to the side of the train doors he stepped on the the platform. He was walking with eyes closed.

The announcer. Well it's for blind people isn't it? They can't read the electronic boards or watch the stations flash past the train windows.

He looked so vulnerable, so disconnected from everything.

I was slightly stunned momentarily at how stupid and blundering I am.

Then I started noticing people in the train properly.

The frankly overweight woman sat in front of my mother had a hearing aid and a tattoo on her shoulder of a smiley face.

The man a few seats along handed food to his haggard wife who was sat behind a pram, despondent to everyone.

The asian woman on the other side of the carriage to me rested her head on her boyfriend's shoulder, stretching out her slender neck whilst craning to look through text messages on her phone, smiling slightly to herself. He didn't glance at her once.

I was sitting outright staring at strangers. And I nearly cried. I am a shallow, self-indulged shell compared to people like these. I'm an average teenage girl. If my life so far was a book it would be flipped through on a whim then put back on the shelf. These people were well worn, spines cracked, pages bent in the corners, everything.

The woman opposite me stared back. She was old. Probably in her sixties or seventies. She was thin. Really thin, with a severe haircut. And covered in lines. She was a smoker. You could tell from the lines that crept towards her mouth, down-turned in a sneer at my vacant face. Obviously the wealthy type, tough skinned, hard to crack... snooty. I didn't like her. She would be the type of book that left a bitter taste in my mouth after.

Maybe I have a few stories of my own.

I hate making myself vulnerable for you. But I'm glad that out of everyone I could love, I ended up with you.

Day Six

A picture that inspires you

I didn't forget the photo-challenge.

you pretend that it's alright to wait up half the night, he can't be bothered to phone, you spend another night alone

I must be the most lame person in England right now.

I'm sitting in front of the computer, eating Coco Pops out of the box whilst watching old episodes of Derren Brown back to back on 4od.

I'm not even hungry.

It's half twelve- why have I not just fucked off to bed yet?

At least I didn't spend my whole day doing this.

I got my haircut; now I have a bit more of a fringe.

Oh and I let a friend take photos of me for her own photography project.

I quite like this one she did.

I said, "there's nothing I can do for you, you can't do for yourself", he said, "oh, yes you can, just hold my hand, I think that that would help"

There's a ladybird in my room!

I love ladybirds and have only just realised I've never seen one in my house before even though an array of, let's say, more unpleasant insects, seem to take to my abode well; spiders, moths, even ants.

I tried to take a picture of it for you. My digital camera's zoom was being a twat and I tried standing on a chair to get closer which then swivelled viciously- as viciously as a chair can swivel- and almost resulted in me breaking something (most likely, my leg). So I ended up standing on my desk which was bending under my weight and got these photos.

They're the best you're going to get and you should be grateful for the stupid efforts I went to getting this picture.

The ladybird's gone now.

I'm wasting my life aren't I?

Fucking hell.

I wouldn't change one stupid decision for another five years of life

I missed one of the buses I take to get home from the park. I walked the twenty minute journey home and stared blankly at the surprising amount of pervy men that leered out of their cars at me. It would have been alright if I had my iPod with me but I didn't.

I don't like long walks very much. It makes me think too much.

She was very loud and overbearing today. I would have liked to have talked to him too but my words were lost a bit beneath her drunken shrieks.

No, I don't have much reason to be depressed. But that doesn't make me a wannabe? What is it that I would want to be in the first place? Do you think depression is an image? I just get depressed randomly, there's nothing I can do to help it really. It's fucking annoying.

I would have liked to have talked about all the pretentious shit he verbalises so well. It's not that people like us try and be deep or whatever (I personally hate being referred to as deep, it just sounds so mocking) but, well, after a few drinks, it's nice to talk to people you used to be close to. It would just be nice to see how life was treating him nowadays. I should probably talk to him more.

Apart from the end, today wasn't that good. I stole whiskey from my parents' alcohol cabinet, bitched a lot, puzzled over a crying friend who I didn't get the chance to find out what was wrong with, played cards, sat on a wasp (yes, really), tried hauling myself over a wire fence whilst being stung by nettles, got bitten by midges, got stamped on and ended up slinking away from the group of people to catch the bus by myself after having three different people promise to catch the bus with me.

My next photo challenge thing is lame. A picture that inspires me. Too wide a spectrum, I'm afraid. Don't expect me to put that one up in any rush.

I will, however, leave you with this picture of the ceiling in the throne room of the Alhambra in Granada, Spain. Insane arabic mosaics.