i want to write about Mizz and Bliss magazine and the article about the summer perfumes that i can still remember bottle for bottle. i want to write about manifestation and intention. i want to write about my summer perfumes and lists of my top favourites. i want to write about perfumes for every season. about the handmaids tale, the virgin suicides. about my summer playlist. about walking round the park at dusk. about how my skin smells after three applications of hawaiian tropic and elizabeth arden's green tea summer.  about writing.  about hoop earrings. about nose bleed Graceland seats.  i want to write about moving to london and uplifting my life after such a long time of being so low. i want to write about something funny and something sad. i want to write about running, and blogging and articles and promotional pictures from perfume ads and debut albums and that animal crossing advert from 2006 and about every single experience i have ever had that makes me, me.

Summer games

i found an entry in my journal dated the 14th of may, two months ago. a month and a bit ago i was at a wedding that changed my perception on how i tackled an opportunity i was scared of. a month and a little bit less ago, i was at my first audition for the opportunity. two weeks and a bit ago i left my job, two weeks ago today i did my second audition for the opportunity, a week and three days ago i found out that i was successful in that opportunity and will be going to LDN later in the year. it's been a mad month.

it's been a month and a half (especially this fuckin Cancer season) of being faced with the past and the future immediately. both really vying for my attention and both of them overwhelming. things got really dark, worse than dark, things simultaneously got very clear-headed.i was very rational in what i decided i would have to do if i didn't get in. my whole life experience has taught me not to want, because i don't get it. i never have. but i wanted this, more than i could say. and i'm so proud that i showed up for myself, again and again, even when i was frightened.

here's what i've been listening to:

• summer games - drake
• watch me fall apart - sarah jaffe
• my baby needs a shepherd/ red dirt girls - emmylou harris
• piledriver waltz - alex turner
• hot knife - fiona apple

reading 

• the water cure - sophie mackintosh 
• the handmaid's tale - margret atwood (and watching)
• i am i am i am - maggie o'farrell 

writers

i was the girl writing out across the paper, out across the internet. bleeding on her blog (hahah). all over her pages. i was the teenage dreamer, baby blogger, journal cuddling, diary writing all night, the saccharine syrupy sentences, ugly impromptu paragraphs. and other things. i still am, at heart. somehow it's harder to write in my own voice now i'm older and attach my name to my thoughts. other people call themselves so easily - it took me twenty one years to call myself an artist.

on bulimia

i order a twenty piece chicken nuggets at the mcdonalds drive thru. i order a big mac. a chicken sandwhich. i get fries. a large coke (diet, obviously). i hold the brown paper bag close and feel the warmth and the smell of fried food in my lap and then i place it in the passenger seat. i am already starting to escape. we ride off ten minutes out of the city, until the roads become dirt and the streetlights stop shining on me. eating is one of my favourite things to do. 

it's easier to throw up on the side of the road because you can dispose of the evidence like you never committed the crime against yourself in the first place. i have enough tiny deaths looking at the rising water level in the toilet bowl and wondering how you're going to explain that one. i have enough experience in which containers hold vomit best. to double bag. to never purge down a sink because you'll end up sifting through it with your bare hands. i know the feeling of the reluctance to purge and the inevitability of it all. of crippling embarrassment when you cough too loudly in the public stall you're bent over in. does everyone know? does anyone think about bulimia like i do?

Vitamin D

someday i'll write to you and i'll have a few more scars. i'll have different roads and routes and roundabouts mapped out in my brain. i'll sing songs i've written about things i can only imagine. i'll have had a whole lot of happiness, and hopefully, only a little more sadness. that's always been the plan, that's always been why i write. to paint a path away from pain.

summer is coming. it leaves freckles on my arms and invites vitamin d into my blood stream. it always makes me want to wear amber and smell like jasmine and lighten my curls, play 'santa monica dream', drinking beer and getting high in the garden. makes me wanna lay down in abandoned drained pools from the old houses up in the countryside.

i've been reading and thinking about orange groves and olive trees. i'm going to leave my job soon.