vingt-cinq: résumé.

This is why I never keep diaries.

Eventually I get bored, or I just forget. Or things get in the way. This has been neglected because of all of the above.

The last time I wrote was about a week before I turned 18. That seems like an age ago, probably because it was. Since then I've danced, sang, read, grown up, felt younger than ever, gone on adventures, loved, shopped, gushed, been terrified, been rejected, failed, succeeded, worried, drank and drank, worked and worked, written pages and pages, read plenty more pages and pages, worried some more, passed my driving test, listened, been listened to, seen some sights, taken pictures, had pictures taken of me, cried, laughed, embarrassed myself and slept.

The pile of books by the side of my bed has decreased at least. Even though I keep adding to it, just as I keep adding to my iTunes library. Though I do think that Spotify is pure genius, in all honesty.

I'm usually so good at committing myself to things.

Yet here I am, trying to summarise the last few months in a couple of paragraphs, again because I'm lacking in time. All the time, I have no time. I guess that's quite normal, though.

How naive is too naive