a collection of days that passed in a blur

My dear journal, I have to stop only coming back to you when the hangover blues pump through my veins. Overindulged last night in the local, which is nothing like my hometown local because the drink tastes better. People actually dance. There are fewer cigarettes, and people are actually my age. Welcomed in the New Year upstairs on the dance floor, which I’ve done in my hometown local a number of times before, but the floor was too sticky to dance or even jump. Always entered the New Year two seconds later than everyone else due to the stickiness. Being in that pub always felt disgusting. Anyways, [Redacted] was my New Year’s kiss once again. Call it tradition at this point. Realised somewhere between flashing lights, shots, memories of the past year and watching my friends dance as though this was a Devilman Crybaby scene, that I’d give them anything they ever wanted if they just asked for it. Anything at all.

Talked to some stranger upstairs of the chipper. He called me Sabrina Carpenter and Jeffrey Epstein. I don’t know how much those two have in common. He gave [Redacted] a free burger and must have spent at least twenty minutes with us. Felt like longer. Miss him, wherever he is. Ate chips not long after that, officially ruining my hangover ritual. My ritual usually goes as follows:

i. mope around, feeling every emotion of the hangover blues, scribble down some writings to ignore the dread forming a pit in my stomach

ii. force myself to the deli downstairs to get sausages for my sausage sandwich. My go-to hangover cure

iii. clean my room and self to wash away the sweats, sins and smells of the previous night

iv. finally face my roommates or strangers on the street

Ruined ritual this time. Didn’t go to the deli. Something primal in me craved food from the fast food place I used to work at. Only started eating there because I used to get free food for lunch. It’s disgusting food, and I needed it. Forced myself into town. Felt the warmth of the food enter my body as though it were the body of Christ. Been doing that a lot lately. Accepting offerings the same way one would accept communion, holding my hands out, left hand on top of the right. Offerings. Mints. Grandma sweets.

There was a full moon the other night, which made the fierce freezing cold feel more like a hug than a stab. Stood under her, shivering, staring, simply admiring how beautiful she is. [Redacted] says there’s meant to be a super moon soon. I should stop talking about [Redacted] in these entries; they’re going to think I’m obsessed with them. I am, but I might practice being nonchalant in 2026. I’ll update you on how that goes. My prediction: it’ll end miserably.

[Redacted 2] did my makeup on New Year’s Eve, and oh, my dear journal, I wish you could’ve seen it. I don’t wear foundation, but she put it on me, and my base has never been better. Felt like I was 15 again, obsessing over my body before she came over. Trying on outfit after outfit, only to feel too fat or ugly to wear them. Like a pig wearing makeup. I hadn't felt that way in a while, so it hit even harder. But somehow, just by doing my makeup [Redacted 2], it made me feel pretty. She came over to my cosy college apartment two days later with foundation for me to try out. [Redacted 2] is the sweetest person in the entire world. Sometimes I don’t understand how one person can be so sweet. If I were religious and angels were real, I believe she’d be one.

All my journal entries just end up being open love letters to my friends. What else am I meant to do when I have the people I used to pray for? Feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

I've been neglecting blogging and journaling lately because all I can think about is this goddamn novel I'm writing. I would tell you more about it, but the timer for my hair dye just went off. Trying to look like a fox.