she bangs the drums,

so, another journal failed, another one created.
first entries are always, nonsense, really, lacking a point altogether. so i may as well carry on the tradition and make this as pointless as the rest, really.
it's 16.08, i've been home for around seven hours, and have done nothing except read magazines, eat, and create this, before i leave for work at 6.

who knows, perhaps then maybe i'll return with something more decent to talk about.
love, catherine.