I hate the bit just after you’ve put the slice in, waiting for it to pop out again. I always set my toaster to two minutes (I only found out those numbers were minutes and not a heat thing a few months ago, my whole life’s a lie, I swear!). You can go through everything from the night before in two minutes. I just want to hide in the house for a week, is that too much to ask?
If I write this down I can’t forget it because it will be physical and tangible, does that make sense? Even if I burn this page, it’ll be written into the ashes for all eternity.
Bloody hell, that was pretentious.
Alright, here goes, my disgusting confession: I got off with Stephen. In my defence, it was his birthday and I was drunk and…fine. I’m a “slutty drunk”. Whatever. I just regret letting down a mate. Poor Paige, I didn’t even notice her leave. I left her on her own all night, the poor sod. I was meant to be her wing-woman.
And now I’ve burnt my toast. For fuck’s sake.