My aforementioned trip to the Emerald Isle was one of the best weeks of my life. A whole 5 days with friends I seldom see, going on adventures and planning more to keep ourselves warm in bus shelters at 3am. A supporting cast of beautiful people and a few from the other end of the spectrum too. It is exactly a month today since we boarded the plane to Dublin, me having almost decided not to go due to lack of funds and a night of no sleep. In the end, it would have been worth missing sleep for a month and having no money for a year.
So I returned, missing Irish rivers, long coach journeys and the constant unpredictable happenings that would occur in every new town. I became even more disillusioned with my programme of study and stopped caring about getting up in the morning. I stayed up all night and slept all day. Ate plates of lettuce leaves and not much else. Smoked too many cigarettes and consumed too many drugs. Found the bottom of the bottle held not the answer but more of the problem. Continued with the bi-weekly minor emotional breakdowns until things started to come good again. Stared at photos of all I'd left behind. Decorated my room with postcards, posters and posers and listened to fireworks raining down outside. Opened post and shut my eyes, dreamt of places far away. I didn't want to leave London, just the timetable I was meant to be following.





















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