Late night badness
27th June 2005, 12:18 am

Most of today has been spent sunbathing and reading, as there is sod all else to do here. Whilst I was just lying there innocently on my towel, my dad wandered past saying, "Should I call the coastguard?". Cheeky bastard. I'm currently reading The Da Vinci Code, after being nagged constantly by my sister to read it. It's a very good book, though the style of writing annoys me slightly.

I have a feeling this entry is going to be a wee bit angsty, as I'm in that kind of mood. I'm not sure why... this always happens when I come home to Manchester. I'm tempted to blame my depressed mood on the fact that this house holds so many memories of badness. In fact, the more I think about it, the more it rings true. Every time I come back here I have endless thoughts gnawing away at me, telling me that this house was meant to be the perfect fresh start for all of us; that things were meant to be very different; that we gave up life in Nottingham for nothing; that I'm a shit person for not feeling more, about Bernie and about everything we lost.

I'm worried about my dad, again. My sister's planning on moving out soon to live with one of her friends from uni, and obviously I'm now not coming home after I graduate. He's going to be living in this huge house of broken dreams on his own, with no one for company. I know that I have to live my own life, and I know that he'd never say anything about it, but I still feel awful for abandoning him.

I wish we still lived in Nottingham, now that Manchester holds nothing for us. I wish that we had sold this house and moved back. God I miss my friends, my old life. Writing that makes me feel incredibly guilty, like I'm rubbishing everything about Bernie. Like I'm saying that she wasn't worth all the heartache and grief. She was worth it all... I just hate how these feelings will never go away, that I'll never be able to feel comfortable in this house.

This is why I spend so much time in Sheffield. It's why I don't ever want to come home, because it holds too many bad memories. And when I am here my dad's indifferent after the initial period of welcome, only talks about himself. My sister's great, she's just like she was and makes me feel like part of the family, but my dad seems to have slipped into his own little world, where everything revolves around work, weed and e-bay. I think he smokes too much... maybe I just notice it more now that I don't smoke anymore.

I should probably leave this here, before I go too deep. I'm not going to read through it, so apologies for any spelling mistakes.

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