Dear Me

So the other day I was tidying out my room (I have had to throw out pretty much like 60% of my belongings) in preparation for moving into the flat in July. The flat itself is beautiful. If you tried to go look at it at some point over the past few day's you'd be oblivious to it due to the large amount of this:

A stock photo; but generally the state of affairs.

But if you were a massive creep and managed to break into it, you'd see this: 

Beautiful flat. Beautiful beautiful. The only reason there's only one photo is that the rest got taken down off the website when we secured it! Sad! But there will be plenty photos when we move in.

I shall be living with the lovely Kimbers and Caroline in our aforementioned beautiful flat on Potterrow.  The location is IDEAL: I mean, I can see my lecture theatre from the bedroom window. The issue is, that my mum is selling the Family flat in Leith either during or just after the summer. This means whatever I take with me, is what I am taking and what I have. She's looking at two bedrooms for after the sell, so this time I fly the nest I have to go, and I can't turn back. I've had to throw away so many things I'd rather keep for memory sake; but there's simply not room for them. I feel a little better knowing that the flat is round the corner though (timescale wise). Our levels of psychosis and excitability mean that we are all highly anticipating the move with vigour:

Well, Caroline and I are. Kim just looks a little exasperated.

SO, When I was cleaning out stuff, I found a lot of old diaries (which I did not throw out) and read through some. There were some from when I was like 14, where I just laughed at my naivety, then ones from when I was like 16 where I just laughed at my naivety, then ones from when I was 17 where I just laughed at my naivety. Ones from my 18th birthday where I laughed at my stupidy. So on, so on, ones from June, July, August, September, October, November, December last year where I laughed at my stupidity. Ones from January, February, March where I laughed at my stupidity and naivety. Retrospect is a powerful tool, we grow personally at such a rate, even within weeks we can laugh at ourselves, see our outrageous little mistakes and gaps in judgement. Or big gaps in judgement. I realised this especially when I correlated my diary entries with Die Liste at the back (so renamed due to Teresa). 


What else? Everything is gooood. I have been watching Will and Grace compulsively between shifts at work which seem to be becoming increasingly chaotic (both the former and latter) with all the budget cuts. I have some ironing to do, so I shall scram now. 




Ciao 


xxx