I like the feeling of fitting into a new routine. There’s the initial dislike of change, then the toleration of it and then, finally, it clicks and it doesn’t feel new or different anymore.
Right now I am working my way through a list of fourteen things. Some of the things are small. In the past couple of hours I have ticked off five of them and I am less than a hundred pages away from finishing the sixth. I am wearing a yellow top, yellow socks and my girlfriend’s yellow slippers. I can’t wear yellow. Yellow is a colour I cannot wear. I am listening to old Tori bootlegs and reading George Orwell. This morning I counted £30 in change. I will read this http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2009/mar/18/british-library-lost-books when I think I’ve done enough work.

I am excited for a lot of things. Some big things and some little things. The big things are going to Scotland, going to the football, getting another tattoo, the new Tori album and the amazing/ mad excitement of a tour. The little things are just for me.

I don't know what the temperature is outside, but it is too high. I feel like I'm ready for winter again. The nights are getting lighter, but the change seems unsettling to me. I enjoy eating dinner in the dark and driving with my lights on at 4pm of earlier depending on the weather. I like jumpers and horrible weather, warm puddings and the feeling of settling down for the night. But now the days are feeling longer and the dark is disappearing. Through the days I close my curtains and read with my lamp on. I want to make the night happen because everything feels safer then. I don't like it when everyone is up and about. Too much can happen.
Reading is more fun at night. Music sounds better when it's quiet, but then again there is often nothing better than listening to punk loudly in the summer. Some books are written for summer, but I don't mean 'summer reads'. I mean books like Wuthering Heights- books I associate with summer. I first read it lying in my garden on a tartan blanket with my old white ipod and my glasses lying next to me. I got a tan that summer.

I have talked myself round.

Lewis Grassic Gibbon

This picture is the reason I'm writing this entry. I was in the middle of drying my hair and reading A Scots Quair and I realised that I had to see a picture of this man who writes like nobody else. In this novel, which is a trilogy, I feel Scotland. I am not familiar with the places it describes, nor am I familiar with the Scotland and its people who felt the Great War, but the words capture my country in a way I never thought possible. The prose is realist, but it is far richer and has more dimensions than any other realist writing I have read. It makes me feel like modernist writing is meant to make its reader feel. It is completely alive. 'Only the land endures.'

Incredible.