I cried for the first time today. Not much, and not long. I am not helpless and this is not hardship. Besides, to cry seems to admit defeat; I am not defeated, and if I was, I wouldn't admit it.

Anyway, just a series of frustrations. Finally got to use my internet account, and first emailed mom and dad to tell them I'm alive. But I didn't get to email everyone I wanted or read everything in my inbox -- guess the computer center closes at 5.

[omission]

So then I walked home in the rain -- which was fine by itself, I just felt cheated and ripped away -- and then my key to the front door wouldn't work, which it doesn't 9 times out of 10, and then the key to my own room woulnd't work, and so I started muttering inange things like, "oh fuck you hard" and throwing my belongings around until I finally got in -- my flatmates must think I am the biggest spaz in the world --

But worst of all, I then took out my cell to find at some point Lani had text messaged me: "Alive?" and somehow I cannot reply to her, maybe I need some minutes to do it, I don't know what the fucking problem is, but I can't fucking communicate with anyone in the fucking world I fucking know or love, so I fucking cried.

So now I'm going to eat some ciabatta bread with butter, and I don't care what anybody has to fucking say about it.

(Later)

Friendship is not really something I do because I am a snob and I don't play well with others.

(Later, in an obviously drunk scrawl)

I think we're going to have to differentiate somehow between drunk Lauren and sober Lauren -- we are very different creatures. Tonight all the flatmates plus Adam minus elusive Dutch girl went out for drinks

Tonight's count: 2 Palms 1 Dommelsch

Really, 3 drinks, you wouldn't think would --> such ridiculous manuscript but yet, here it is

Anyway, everytime I do go out I have fun

And every next morning I say

yeah, but

So who should you believe?

Nothing tops a Danish guy saying "fucking" every other word

haha... lines...

(I was by then not even trying to write straight.)

Tonight:

-- Adam and I discussing 8-s music and Gen X vs. Millenials (He started calling them Generationals) and Y2K

-- Francesca proposed once a week meeting to drink, smoke pot and discuss feminist theory while listening to Natalie Imbruglia I heartily agreed

-- Hearing Danish and Finnish swear words (I don't remember a thing)

-- Hooters and the Blowfish*

-- "Everything is a phallic symbol if you want to see it" <-- attempts to discuss Freud while intoxicated --> 4th grade observations

-- "Fucking Bloemstraat" "Fucking Flower Street" "Do you know what alliteration is?"

We rule

-- Trovel? called me a fucking bitch slut whore but he was just practicing

* (an arrow leads to this:)

("Yes, 'hooter' is a boob... I don't know what a hootie is.")