NONE. I just threw out my last three pairs this morning. I am not a jeanless woman.

The beautiful, clean, intelligent people. Obviously.

The last few days have been turbulent, to say the least. I am at the point in every young girl's life where I have to decide if I want to continue on with my university plan and get a job and a career and settle down and be comfortable, or if I want to run away and live with a ragtag bunch of homeless Europeans and be emotionally and intelluctually stimulated every day and never, ever bored. Clearly, with four days left to go before I leave France and return home to Adelaide, this was a brilliant time for an existential crisis.

That would be a safe assumption to make, though to be perfectly honest with you, I'm relatively certain it won't be confined to just one lifetime. It's that kind of thing.

I've read two or three of the Smiley books, my father is a fanatic and has close to the entire Carre library. I sigh with joy just thinking about it.

Do you know that after watching a Triple J segment discussing the same thing about five years ago, back when they had the show on Sunday mornings, I didn't eat potatoes for about four months? Literally made me scared to eat them. Now though, after much consideration, I am leaning more towards harmless vegetable. Corn, on the other hand...

I assume this is because of the Megaupload thing? Even if it isn't, I'd just like to get off my chest how horrible I think it is that he got what, 40 years prison time for making television and films easy to 'steal', and yet people who commit murders get off with half of that time. BACK TO THE POINT: I'm of the opinion that it is something of a death sentence for the industries, but isn't the real crime broadcasting TV in one corner of the world a year before broadcasting it to another and then expecting people not to be pissed off? Personally, I download TV because I can't stand the ad breaks, but I buy a lot of television on DVD as well, so I believe myself to be in the clear, conscience-wise.

My hot bod.

No, it is certainly a pointless one. I think the problem is that I'm a terrible masochist with a continual inability to let go of things. It's all very bland, I assure you.

It is in all out war with my common sense, and I believe it is winning. Mainly it is very, very tired of fighting.

Exhuasting, and it is showing no signs of letting up.

I lift my face up to the sky and wait until the voice of God whispers band names in my ear. Also, television soundtracks.

That is the truest thing that's ever been said.

Oh, you mean every single day of my life? Eat.

Much like most of my Christmases, spent eating salmon and foie gras and an unhealthy amount of ham in my pyjamas and sleeping all afternoon, with the evening spent watching the Christmukkah episodes of The O.C with my family. Living the sweet life.

It's something, I guess.

You say that like I'm not already aware that my life is one, long Linkin Park song.

I had a weird dream about an old lover, one I've put a lot of effort into forgetting, and then fate, that cruel creature, decided to plaster him all over my Facebook for the weekend. I am nostalgia's bitch so of course it brought up a lot of memories and Deep and Meaningful questions about the nature of Love and Souls and whether I'm ever going to get it that good again (here's a hint: I'm not) and it just generally fucked me up for a few days. I fear I've had all the happiness one person is allowed to have - filled my quota, if you will, and forgive how pretentious I may sound - so I usually try and do my best not to dwell on the Good Old Days in case I never get out of bed again. It just caught me by surprise, I guess.

Very little.

I apologise, sometimes I forget other people are as real as me.