Dear Izzy,

Help me, I’m a complete mess. My tights have the biggest ladder you’ve ever seen in your life, I have not copied up half the notes I’m supposed to and all I want to do is build a blanket fort and live in it forever, avoiding all responsibilities.

On a lighter note, I managed to have a chat with a cute stranger today without passing out, vomiting, or saying nothing and just making finger guns at him as I slowly walk out of the room (all of these things were genuine possibilities considering my level of social awkwardness). Anyway, the point is I am proud of myself for succeeding in talking to a stranger, I’m now one step closer to being a well-functioning human being. However, don’t worry, I’m not now some kind of social butterfly who’s going to leave you and find cool friends who get drunk and hang out at urban outfitters, I’m still an idiot who falls over in high heels (and in flats to be quite honest) and just wants to take naps all day.

I had a daydream (although it might have been an actual dream, I think I feel asleep momentarily) on the bus this morning where I made you the best birthday cake you could ever imagine, complete with glitter, and gave it to you even though it wasn’t your birthday. I’m not entirely sure what my subconscious was trying to get across with that one, if you have any suggestions then let me know.

I have realised today that I use brackets far too often when I’m writing and that I should really just cut out all the irrelevant nonsense I write in them (but I like adding little stupid side notes, so I shall continue to excessively parenthesize as long as I live).

Earlier today I was filled with dread when my English Lit teacher stated that we were going to spend the next month or so acting out A Streetcar Named Desire. Why on Earth English teachers seem to think acting is a “fun lesson” continues to elude me, seeing as our whole class audibly groaned when he said we’d have to act. I managed to make aggressive eye contact with the table when he was asking people to volunteer for particular roles, and have managed to avoid speaking parts entirely. I’m going to volunteer as stage manager or some other similar job where I can hide backstage and avoid the intense humiliation of putting on a New Orleans accent and acting out what my English teacher called a “sexy play”. However, no humiliation could ever compare to my other English teacher, who whilst explaining A Handmaid’s Tale to us, repeated the phrase “soft, sweaty, stroking teenage sex” a good 5 times. It was one of those moments in my life where I genuinely hoped the Earth would swallow me whole.

Anyway, there’s some eclectic updates on my life. My mum says hello, although she’s so stressed and tired at the minute that she forgot your name and referred to you as “my Asian friend whose mum is Suda” (Make that your new twitter bio?). Miss you lots and hope to see you soon. Stay away from mean boys, drink some water, and treat yourself to a nice lush bath bomb. Love you lots, take care of yourself x

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