jeudi 1 février 2018

Over. It.

January is over. The supermoon is over (although it was, rather magically, still visible in the sky as I took the early morning train into London this morning).

Today it is a new month, a beautiful sunny day in London. Spring in the air is sniffable.

Yesterday, I wept through therapy, dragged myself through a dance class hoping it 'would help' (it did, kind of - only kind of). I ate a barely-cooked steak as big as my face. I had a full-moon bath and left my crystals out on the windowsill. Then I stayed up for most of the night watching The End of the F***ing World. Cannot recommend highly enough, is pretty much all you need to know from me. Bonus props for the on-point True Romance aesthetic, perfect architecture and Earl Cave.

I've saved this article by the inspiring (in an I-wanna-be-her-or-maybe-be-her-friend-or-at-least-have-her-hair sort of a way) Molly Guy. I've been finding it most useful. When ANYONE offers you a plate of crumbs and tells you it's a feast, tell them to fuck right off. I'm working on it. A work-in-progress, I must admit.

Today, I brought a green smoothie to work in a fucking Kilner jar for my breakfast. Smug levels high. Think I might go and hang out in Holland and Barrett at lunchtime. Yoga tonight.

The Fuck-Boys-in-the-Eye February regimen is afoot. I'm actually excited.

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