jesus is just a spanish boy's name

I got a surge of contentment today. Leant back from my unfinished essay and sighed because I just kind of accepted that the work I was doing is shit. The rants I have on here are shit. I am generally shit.

But I don't care.

Why does it matter?

In the grand scheme of things all of this doesn't matter one tiny bit.

I am a speck. So I may as well enjoy myself.

That little moment was then duly ruined by my begrudging father who stomped upstairs to tell me my food was getting cold, and gave me a death stare for the state of this room before declaring I had to eat downstairs unlike I usually do.

I sat on my kitchen side, legs crossed eating stuff I couldn't even be bothered to ask what it was before scraping most of it in the bin because I wanted to get back to my essay which I am still staring at blankly.

This month is taking forever.

I am counting down days until the summer.

I want to feel the sun on my face, wear short skirts, visit a beach, go to a party, stay out late, drink more than I should, buy ridiculous amounts of CDs, go to a million more gigs, go up to London, have a lie in, pick and choose which friends to hang out with when, spend time with him.

I don't want school and exams and endless boredom and self deprecation.