I drove over my friends house on Friday night. I was a little nervous but I knew I had to do it. It was fine. We had a really fun evening with lots of wine and old photos.
Driving home with a hangover was not fun at all. It was boiling hot and I felt wobbly! It seamed to take forever and I kept telling myself to stay calm. I got home and I'm proud of myself.
I've agreed to go to Italy in 4 weeks. Fuck. They really want me to go and I'd had a few and agreed to borrow the money off of Clare. Part of me wants to go, the other part tells me what if I am anxious, or want to come home, or have a panic attack, or look like a beached whale etc etc...
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