not only do i understand freud, i think i like him a bit too

In Medicine with marra, talking about drugs, saying how stuff just feels better at the moment, you know, my emotions make a bit more sense, it all just feels more genuine in that respect. Better to feel genuinely ok, surely, on drugs, than to pretend to be happy and be genuinely miserable?

Mental Thursday. Is today just too good?

Didn't get enough sleep. I suddenly find myself playing the insomnia game again, I just can't sleep in my own flat. Can't imagine why. Woke up and had an argument with myself.

Marra, you need to have a shower. Fuck off, I don't wanna. Tough, you have to, it's called hygiene, c'mon. No. Yes. Shan't. Shall! I hate you. Good, now get in the bloody shower you skank.

Whatever. In the end though, I arrive at my lecture ten minutes late and my shower pays off when the most beautiful man in the yearifnotworld clears a seat for me. Bonus.

I think, today shall be a good day, for I am showered and the world is sweet. Ah. Sweet like my newly showered self.

In the break between my lecture and seminar, I eat some more lemon bar cake and rewatch the last episode of Sugar Rush. Ah...

In critical theory, I finally grasp what Freud was banging on about, have a much-needed rant about feminism and decide to write relevant article for the student magazine. The guy sitting beside me starts chewing tobacco halfway through the seminar and I feel good on the inside.

Then, to Medicine with my marra, where I eat the most BEAUTIFUL baguette known to man (freshly baked, melting butter, brie and warm bacon, peppers) in the windowsill, with pints of coke and sunshine and Jack Johnson and Scissor Sisters playing on in the background.

Lounging on leather sofas, talking about everything in the way that only marras can, about babies crying and people being happy and how there's so much emotion to be spread over so many things and women and men and Sugar Rush and how sometimes blokes seem to want to do the exact thing you never thought they'd want to do and that's fine if they wanna do that but they do know that, well, you know, like, it's not mutual?

(It's ok, only Est is supposed to care about that last bit.)

A couple of hours later I'm in the psychology department, pulling my bra out from under my t-shirt and handing my belt, jewellery and hoodie over to Aimee, who then lays me down on a sort of bench type thing and rolls me up into the MRI machine.

It's noisy in there, and small. Very small. There's a mirror above my face so I can see what's being projected onto the back wall. The voice in my ear reads out numbers which I add and repeat and get wrong and it's noisy, very noisy in there. I'd like to pretend I'm not scared. It's actually quite fun, and looking into the mirror makes it feel like there's more space than there actually is.

Occasionally I look down at my feet to remind myself and my claustrophobia that I'm not actually in a coffin. There's not much that scares me more than that.

In between reading numbers and speaking the answers into the mic on my chest, I take a moment to consider how good today is. Not much of a moment, mind you, because the sums I have to do really are quite hard and, well, it's sort of tough to think much when there's that much noise going on in your skull.

I can feel my pulse thundering in the headphones but this is actually fun. I'm only slightly terrified by being effectively trapped in such a small space, so I wiggle my toes a lot out in the open air. I like that today I'm getting my brain scanned for PhD research, I like that I get to see a picture of the inside of my skull, I like that I have to walk back to Crusters with no bra because if I'd worn it in the MRI my boobs would have stuck to the ceiling.

I like that I like today. It seems like today likes me. I like that I don't have to pretend to be happy today.