Tonight's just one of those nights.
The kind that brings out the monophobic coward in me.
The kind that makes coming home alone, after a shit day, almost unbearable.
Yet of all nights, this should be one that is marked by merry-making, absolute drunkedness, dirty talking, lesbian antics, and silly dance moves.
The rain has cast a horrid aura of eekiness and vulnerability over me and all my excitement about leaving IB behind.
I probably wouldn't survive a month in London alone.
Because nights when I have to cancel plans, wait 30 minutes for a cab whilst clutching to a bouquet of lilies and my 21st century female pride, cook and eat dinner by myself, and put Damien Rice on repeat (god I'm pathetic) while writing this entry,
I feel like crying and being a lot more regular.
I don't care what you think, because even I think it's such a sorry little rant.
I sometimes (like tonight) wish that I was a regular girl. One who'd happily let a nice little boy take care of her, drive her to work, and pick her up again, take her out to dinner, run the bath for her when they get home, watch some tv together, then tumble off to bed. Yes sometimes this once serial-dating, smoking, drinking, wild horse craves normality.