note to older self: the cat is going to be called Mr Bigglesworth and Pudge. And if we have a third cat, it is called Zazzles.

further note to self: if the cat is ginger, it has to be called Mr Bigglesworth in memory of Mr Bingley.

After graduation, I let my friend graffiti it. But now I highly doubt that what she's done is considered as graffiti. Impressive, non?

The back is also quite cool - she's drawn the muscles in as well.

p.s. Finally got my hands on Bic Runga's newest album. Well worth my $20.

note to myself: when I get better, must try this recipe - http://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/apricot-blondies

further note to oneself: fairy lights in jars.

I just cut myself some paper snowflakes. I thought it was both whimsical and able to save me from boredom.

Although weirdly enough, when one of my flatmates came back today, it took me an hour before I felt comfortable enough to leave my room because I was so used to being alone. And now that they're back, I don't know how I managed to stay sane for so long whilst being alone. Well, I've only been completely alone for three days seeing as E. was with me most of the time last week.

I hope it's not hot on Saturday (i.e. the day of graduation). My robes are so heavy and long... I'd probably overheat. And trip.

Also, I would rage here. But I know this blog is read. And as much as I would like to lambaste this individual, I shall refrain from doing so. I don't know why the handicapped don't rage. Because it's only been two weeks and I fucking want to yell at people already. Well, the person who I seem to end up releasing all my anger on is my mother and she really doesn't deserve it. There have been some people who without them, I probably would've self combusted by now. I love them so much and I don't know how on earth I'm ever going to thank them.

And then there are others who I just want to give a kick up their uptight arses.

p.s. there is a NEVER ENDING list of people who I can't even begin to thank. I should not let the fact that ONE person decided to be a dick irritate the crap out of me.

Currently as poor as a church mouse due to the fact that I can't work. This sucks because today I found a lovely pleated maxi dress that I would like to call my own.

Also, it is a beautiful day today and I smell. This sucks because I can't shower properly on the account of my plaster of paris cast falling to pieces.

Also, my flat now smells of burnt brownie. And I am full.

Also, I would like to have money so I can buy Bic Runga's newest album.

Note to self: homemade snow globes as presents/decorations. I cannot wait until I can walk around so I can make some.

http://www.cambio.com/2011/11/28/taylor-swift-christmas-snow-globes/

I also hope that by the time I get better, some things will also have changed. It's odd to think that it took a broken Achilles to get a confession. And if this broken Achilles leads to something else, then I will happily thank God every day that He allowed it to break.

The lyrics of Bruno Mars's song "It will Rain" are hauntingly prophetic.

It seems that along with a broken Achilles tendon, I will need to nurse myself a broken heart. So here goes, I suppose.

Another 365 days of journal entries, each day to signify how much I'll miss you... when you finally decide to leave me.

This time, probably for good.

I really don't know if I can go through what I went through a year ago. And I don't really want to either.

I'm sorry that I have to leave you. But I'm so sorry that you won't give that 0.1% a chance because I was willing to take you on those odds.