when the news came.  well, i sauntered to the bus stop where the bus took me to fuengirola, got the metro from fuengirola to malaga airport, where i put all my make up in a sandwich bag and boarded a hellish flight to liverpool, then from the airport i got a taxi.

i think ran sounds better.

this past 9 days have been horrendous.  take me back to spain.  take me back to my badly paid job (which i actually quite like), my soulless apartment, sun, and the man who always knows when to ask ‘como estas?’

I would love to celebrate, however I’m skint and drowning in revision. I will definitely listen to some Bob Marley tomorrow day time.  Jah etc.

I’m now 21 years, 7 months and 23 days old.

My degree bores me.

I’ve had more fear this year than ever before.

I have no money.

I just quit my job as a waitress in a well known hotel chain that makes me part of Paris’ family.

I live with 2 of my best friends and a girl who is so socially retarded I have no idea how she gets out of bed of a morning.

I sold out and took my nose piercing out for a job.

I fell in love with an amazing man, and let him go because he was working on destroying the most beautiful soul I have ever encountered (his own), and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

I still sleep at silly hours.

My love affair with Manchester is still extremely rocky.  However, it’s not as rocky as the Sierra Nevada mountains…

Those mountains will overlook me from the 24th of May, as I move to a small town just outside of Marbella to do a placement at a well known hotel chains resort for a year. I’m scared, but good scared.

I still can’t walk in high heels.

I have drank far too much this year.

I’m still hoping.