self-whoring

fuck. i've been self-whoring for the last 3 hours, more or less, since 9, with diverting conversations with remus, shaggy and adam. its to do with scholarships, testimonials and whatever. the idea is that if i don't get a scholarship i can't go overseas for uni and if i can't go overseas that would suck. yeah there's always NUS but... see the world & all that jazz...

but it's so bloody sick-making, typing your own name again and again, trumpeting your own achievements, after all i'm just some middling mediocre dreamer-escapist who wants to go to LSE for the atmosphere and the london air and the sheer wootness of it. there's nothing i've done that's absolutely remarkable or fantastic or anything, i'm just, me. and a not very good me - a middling me - at any rate.

i'm sick, i'm tired, i've got revision lects in the morning, A levels in +/- 3 damn weeks, i've got enough problems as it is, i'm on my way to answering camus' ultimate philosophical question because life is taking a crap on my head.

i need brahms.

maybe i need some love too.

that would be nice.