I've just watched The Beach (horrible, horrible film, full of perma-tanned arseholes) and now I want to go to Thailand and have sex in a coral reef and dance like a loon. I'd go if it were not for the following things:

* I've spent the past three months adjusting to a world without anti-depressants, and I am not at all comfortable with reality
* I hate flying
* I have a morbid fear of malaria, cockroaches, drug barons and all the other things which make Asia such a magical place

I'm at that horrible stage between feeling better and wanting to do things, but not really having the confidence to do them. I've decided to take another year out from uni. The last one didn't really go as planned, I spent six months on tablets thinking I was the king of the world and could do anything, and the last four realising that this was all lies, and in fact the wrong type of weather can send me off on a major panic attack.

This is what I want to do over then next year:
* Get on a plane. Go somewhere exotic. Eat. Drink. Sleep with French man. Bore people with stories for forseeable future
* Go out to classy establishments, not the pound a pint, ten to twoer, playing Steps without a hint of irony places I had been frequenting until it all went wrong and I became the hobbit hermit woman of Wales. In fact, going out at all would be good.
* Get interesting job in the field of social work. Cope with it
* Join some sort of hippy community and spend my days making mittens out of yaks wool which I will dye horrible colours and bully tourists into buying
* Become stable human being