Countdown: 20 days to departure

Since I lost my job two weeks ago I have handed in the notice to my apartment and have been busy selling over half my wardrobe, packing and Ebaying shit to raise money for the trip. So far I have made £120 selling my high street clothes at Retro Clothing in Notting Hill, I gave all my designer and high end vintage to The Exchange in Fulham. (I'm looking to make around a £700 cut on those items.) I didn't spend my life in thrift stores for nothing! This stuff cost me hardly anything over the years and to sell it for a profit is thrilling.

A low point to date was an argument with my Dad about my graduate loan with my bank for £2,500 that I am leaving behind. He went fucking nuts at me for 'walking away from my responsibilities' and leaving country with the loan behind. The fact is I have never missed a payment and have no intention to. I am leaving plenty of money in my UK bank account for this. I am pretty sure there was more going on behind the scenes that fulled his rage. So I took it on the chin via Skype for 35 minutes. "If there is one thing I regret Rox is not raising you with more financial awareness. I don't want to see you struggling with money your whole life like you know who!" (You know who = my Mom)
No one can reduce me to tears as fast as my Dad, but that is a result of how close we are.

I'm having mixed days; some days I feel I am going to be sick and other days I am excited for the unknown. The sleepless nights have subsided - thank god. I was up every night over the last 2 weeks with terrible anxiety. I am smoking more which is normal for me in times of change. I can feel I am losing weight from all the wrong areas as a result of the stress. My boobs seem to be getting smaller by the day. Damn these Camel Lights.

I am having bazaar and vivid dreams which you will soon read isn't unusual for me. One of which included my x boyfriend who I broke up with about a month ago.

I arrived at his flat and he was drunk. I was clamoring for his affections post break up. He could care less I was there. Plus he had company... This little blond came to the door in nothing but a short grey t-shirt and no underwear. I looked at her in horror; she gazed back at me with a look of satisfaction. I couldn't believe she had her pussy out on show. I glared at her with disgust and said, 'You fucking slag.'
She replied with a smile, 'You're the slag....'

I will leave that to you to work out the symbolism.

Music I am currently listening to: Fever Ray 'When I Grow Up'