The 17th of January. Well I feel absolutely wretched again. The lorazepam was not as good as usual, so I was awake at half past seven even with 3mg in my system.

I spent this morning trying to write an email to This Morning being concise yet informative enough to get my point across. Neither are easy when your brain is fuzzy so it's still only in draft form; I'll look at it again before I send it.

This afternoon, I had to wait for Mommy to finish baking some bread before we went out to get Christine from New Street. We went shopping for boots first, but had no success and I started getting angry and upset with the world. I ordered some online when we got home, and they'll come tomorrow.

We picked her up, and I've barely said a word since then. I just don't give a fuck about anything at all this evening, and I don't want to talk about it. Some idiot on Twitter started asking me ridiculous questions and by the time she'd made it clear that she'd actually paid no attention to anything I'd said, I'd given up. I'm sick of people.

The 18th of January.

Apathetic. That is how I feel. I had about four hours of sleep, so I am essentially running on caffeine and that has just about run out now. I am so exhausted.

So with my energy at its current level, I have done absolutely nothing today. I watched Saturday Kitchen and read the paper, and Becky and James came round after they'd been to see Frozen, so now she has all the songs in her head.

This afternoon, Daddy and Christine went to see 12 Years A Slave (I am sure it's an excellent film, but I really didn't feel like putting myself through it), and Mommy went to see Grandma. I sat in the armchair, drank copious amounts of coffee and read The Luminaries.

Tonight I just really do not care about anything at all.