Closer To Home

I want to go and sit somewhere really high up, and swing my legs though the air, walk on the clouds. There's nothing to keep me from jumping. Today I'm angry. About a whole number of things. Took a lot of my anger out on my guitar, strumming as hard as I can, probably annoying the hell out of my flatmates with all the Anna Nalick songs I know how to play. Over and over. I'm listening to all the songs I used to listen to a few years ago, bringing back all sorts of weird and wonderful memories. I want to go back to Stortford, back to Sixth form and drive down to tesco express in Kirstie's car, get Mcdonalds with Freddie either really early in the morning or really late at night, even if we have to drive to the airport to get it. Or blast out Whatcha Say really loud in Matt's car. Or drive drunk and without insurance to and from mine and Char's house, and play classic fm obscenely loud. So loud that the butchers dance along with us. I miss those times. I want to go back for Christmas now and see everyone, and not have so bloody much work to do that I probably won't be able to go out at all. I just want things to be different. I don't like the way things are working out. Perhaps Hertfordshire uni would have been a better choice. Closer to home, closer to sanity. Closer to a place where I'm not falling for someone who's taken. Closer to a simple life.