Lonely Girl

So I'm in the library studying and I have SIX MORE MONTHS OF THIS SHIT and I know in five years time, maybe even less, I'll curse my present abhorrence of university with equal disgust and regret at not having thrived in it's knowledgeable fortune and glorious worldliness and limitless accessibility to the most fruitful of documentation of culture and books and people and all the rest of it. But at this present moment in time it is a Sunday, when I'd usually be in a deli with the paper drinking coffee and eating stupidly nice food and talking shit because I can, and instead I'm writing an essay about something cripplingly boring and particular and all the rest of THAT, with no coffee or paper or nice food or anything good at all.

If it were any other Sunday I'd probably be wearing this




..before throwing this on to go for breakfast:



Late afternoon shopping would probably involve something like this:



And then if I had a spare hour I'd nip back for a swift change into this for a cocktail:





Then I'd retire home for a brandy and a smoke, slipping into this:



..and then if the pool was heated up I'd more than likely shove this on for a kinky dip.



INSTEAD I'm feeling like a slug and looking not much better. Torturous when I know what I could be doing today.