So, M and I went to Morocco. We were hot. We came back and went back to work (sadly). I turned 25 and was hungover twice in a week, which these days is an oddity. Even more odd, I was hungover twice due to drinking with my parents. I went to London and realised just how much I miss it, and how much I want to live there again. I fell in love with Chiswick and Brick Lane, and I want to live in one of those two places.
I spent a while wondering what I'm doing, and where I'm going, and established what I already knew: I don't know. It didn't exactly kick my arse into gear, but I'm starting to wake up.
I signed up with the Uni Club again, so I can start going to the gym and deal with my worsening body and esteem issues. I feel fat every day and it needs to stop, I need to go back to what I was. I can't spend my days longing to be like skinny girls on the street, and feeling envy because I hate my body.
I started looking at training contracts to do a law conversion course. I may even have a contact, through a friend of my parents. I need to stop hating what I do and telling myself that at least it pays the bills. I need to have a plan.
In the meantime, I have a plan for the weekend, as it's finally going to be a quiet one: iron, clean, eat nice food, go through my photos from Morocco, read, feel happy in my home.
One of these days I'll come out of the black cloud that's been hanging over my head for the past two years. I will. I have M, my family, my everything, my friends. I will get there.