I was up early enough to watch the sun rise through the trees today. I don�t think I�ve ever been awake and relaxed early enough to do such a thing. It was rather beautiful.

I went and got myself a coffee and came back to bed. The house was so quiet and utterly tranquil. Maybe I should make a habit of getting up early every day � though I dare say it will keep happening regardless of any effort on my part, so long as I�m taking these pills and working this job.

I remember when I lived with Mark; I used to be so aggravated that no matter what time I woke up, he was always awake before me. I wanted those peaceful moments you get when a house is still slumbering and you�re the only person awake, alone with your thoughts. I don�t know how I forgot about this. I always say I�m not a morning person, maybe that�s not true. Maybe I just need to have the right kind of mornings.

My throat is disgustingly clogged and croaky, and I really would like to run a piece of string between my inner ears to stop this incessant itching. This is the worst time of year for colds, the weather gets all wet and warm and my body can never cope.

I keep promising myself that I�ll be constructive today, and I�ll get everything that needs doing done. But all I really want to do is read my book and relax. Maybe I�ll donate one day to one thing, and the other to something entirely different. We shall see.

College is nearly over; I have to keep reminding myself of that. Once this work load has been completed I can afford to relax. I really need to find the energy to start going to the gym though. I remember those feelings of weightlessness, of comfort, and most importantly of pride. I want to feel them again. The sooner I work myself into some sort of routine where I get healthy again, the feckin� better.

On Lew�s birthday I changed his Facebook profile in as many absurd ways as I could think of, in the small time frame I had before he realised what I was up to - His political views to Arnold Schwarzenegger; his religious views to the Flying Spaghetti Monster; his previous job as the Playboy Mansion and his current one as Hooters. I put him down as divorced and his current studies as Makeup Artistry and Massage Therapy. Then I changed the �About Me� box to his last will and testament (I found an official template online) with him leaving all his possessions to me �his awesome sister�.

When he and Ma saw it we all about wet ourselves with laughter. I told him I�d change it back for him, but he�s decided to leave it. He said it was funny and creative and he�d keep it for laughs. This is why I adore my brother � he doesn�t get mad when I do outrageously stupid things. He sees the humour in it.

I changed my religion to the Flying Spaghetti Monster too, in a show of solidarity. When I googled it I thought it was a rather funny and novel concept; kudos to the dude who thought it up.

The JC meeting went fine. The woman was really lovely to me, which in turn made me feel like the scoundrel I was. I�m going to keep up the signing on until I get paid for the first time. I asked Ma what I should do and she said I�d have to do it really, �cause I have no other money coming in and if they find out about it I can at least plead ignorance on account of not having received any pay yet.

So, three more trips it is then. I�m going to loathe every single one of them.

I suddenly realised this morning that I haven�t renewed my mail redirection so everything is getting sent to Ma�s. I�ll have to get Lew to open some of it for me, as doubtless there�ll be letters from creditors with responses to my letters. *sighs* the sooner I get it renewed the better really. I did, however, receive the HB proof from the council and when I hand that in at college I should get free printing credit, or some such. Thank god really.

It�s Mother�s Day on Sunday and I can�t afford to travel to Bedford. Ma knows about this, she even told me to definitely not get her anything or bother wasting my money on the train. She has never put much stock in any holiday really, and I understand that. Sometimes I wonder at the point of any of it, I only participate in the majority of holidays because I either adore buying gifts to make people happy, or adore the holiday feeling itself.

I feel tremendously guilty though. Like I should be getting her something even more special than all the previous years, as tribute to all the help she�s afforded me lately. For the first time ever I�ve actually glanced at those cards with their silly sentimental messages and thought it would be appropriate for my mother � and for the first time ever I can�t afford to do anything about it.

Usually, she�d end up with a lovely present and a hand crafted card � they suit her personality best; none of the cute and cuddly stuff for this mother. But, I�d like her to know that I do appreciate her right now, more than I ever have. And I want to tell her I love her, for the first time in I don�t know how long. I�d like to give her one of those �Best Mum� cards and write one of my long thought out emotional messages inside. My brother says I write the best card insides and they always make him want to hug me.

I wish I�d had the presence of mind to prepare something when I actually had a bit of money. It�s also Becky�s birthday and I haven�t been able to buy her anything either. Normally, considering I�ve not been able to buy anybody anything so far this year, it wouldn�t faze me much. But I remember her thoughtful presents a few months back (the beautiful Edgar Allan Poe poetry book, the pretty bronze Fiorelli purse, the Twilight Scene It game, the professional sketch book and the guide to drawing monsters and mythical creatures) and I wish I�d bought her something equally as perfect. I feel so guilty and remorseful.

Even though we haven�t been seeing much of each other, and indeed we missed a huge chunk of each other�s lives; we did grow up together, and she pays more attention than I would have thought. Her gifts were so suited to me; I couldn�t help but grin when I unwrapped them. How could I have not got her anything? *sighs*

I heard back about the CSG and they declined it on the basis that I�m not receiving JS, only I am, so I�m going to complain and appeal. If I get that money, or as soon as I have a little spare, I intend to buy everyone (Ma, Lew, Adam, Mandy, Lisha and Becky) something really special. I always have been rather good at getting people things they adore. Something to do with the way I watch people I think, and the fact I�m crazy about shopping.

That�s what surprised me so much about Becky�s gifts I think. Mostly, people ask me what I want and I get a few unexpected gifts that I like well enough. But for her to have got all of that from observing me and seeing what I love, it was touching. Maybe that�s why people are always so thrilled with my presents. I don�t feel arrogant saying this because all the kids in the family tell me it every year � that they look forward to my gifts the most. Partly why the thought of not being able to buy anybody anything eats me from the inside out, like a slow poison I haven�t found the cure for yet. I know I make people happy when I do this, it�s my way of showing that I care, that I pay attention to who they are � but I haven�t been able to do it yet. It�s insufferable.

I might do some sketching today, thinking about it. It�s been a long time, and they do recommend you spend a little time each day do something that�s relaxing and requires little thought. Sketching is a natural thing; you just go with the flow and see what happens. J asked me to design a font for him for a new scripture tattoo he wants. The idea is sort of daunting to me, how does he know I�d be any good at doing something like that? The faith some people have in my abilities is sometimes astounding. He�s never seen me draw much of anything, seriously. Maybe I just seem so confident to people that fumble their way through everything. I know what I like, what I love and what I detest. For some, that�s unsettling.

I haven�t spoken to much of anyone this week. Jane�s been particularly quiet. I suppose I should email her to make sure everything is okay. Nika I finally spoke to last week, but aside from that we haven�t spoken much. I know Grams went to stay down there and is finally back; perhaps I�ll ring her later for a chat. Ma and me never speak all that much � we email now though. It�s peculiar really � our emails sort of border on friendliness and mother/daughterness � not that this makes a lot of sense to anyone who hadn�t read them.

She advised me on how to get the taste of washing up liquid out of the ridiculously expensive travel coffee mug I own (it has a lifetime warranty and is a beautiful emerald green � one of my purchases when I clearly thought money grew on trees) and the other day she was asking for my driving instructors name and phone number to buy my brother some lessons. He�s scared he won�t be able to drive because of the time I let him drive my car and he revved the engine like crazy and stalled every few feet. I eventually managed to get him to do it by being very patient and explaining exactly what he had to do. He thought the same as me, that we somehow expected the car to be heavier, or for it to be harder.

Plus, I had to do his gears for him. But I told him, like everything else about driving, you get used to the clutch and shifting gears � it becomes second nature. In some ways you actually start to like it. I miss driving � the freedom it afforded. *sighs*

I had a strange dream last night; I even woke up crying real tears. Mum had died � I�ve always had dreams where people I love die and I�m left feeling utterly hopeless and alone � this is nothing new. Mum�s not usually the person to die though � my brother has featured in many of these and I have to resist the urge to ring him and make sure he�s still breathing,

There was something odd about this dream though. I had an older brother and sister (I know I already do, but they don�t feel like my siblings because we didn�t grow up together � in this dream we had grown up together and I loved them) and we went to the house of this girl I once knew � our parents were off somewhere and they had been forced to watch over me. She gave us cans of coke and we talked in this conservatory of her big house, at one point her mother ran outside with this man who wasn�t her father, whilst her bearded father sat in a chair chuckling. Then two little blond girls ran outside to the stables after them � I don�t know where the stables came from either. She gave me her phone number, and the number of a friend I was trying to reach desperately for some reason � she wrote them on a label from a bottle.

Then my mother died, and I was the only one who seemed affected by it much. I was lying in the grass outside and tears were dragging down my face and pooling like fresh rain on the lawn. I was sitting in a room reading a diary that belonged to my mother, touching the ink on the pages like a caress. I wanted to speak to this friend because I knew they would understand my pain. And this is all I remember � it felt so real though that the tears I�d kept shedding in that reality were there when I woke up.

After I�d dried my eyes, the first thing I noticed was the fiery red and yellow phoenix picture on my wall; it�s not a real phoenix, only the shape of one made out of brilliant light, cut out of the clouds � in the sunrise it looked so real I could almost have touched it.

Maybe that�s what I�ll draw later. A phoenix, or Athenyx � though, so far, only one person besides myself seems to know what this means. *smiles*

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