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Counting

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For someone who hated maths so much in high school, I spend a lot of time counting. I've counted the hours I couldn't sleep, I've counted the calories I've eaten and burned off, I've counted the lbs I've lost, the Ibs I've gained and the Ibs I've yet to banish. I've counted money and debt, days and Instagram followers, minutes and days and blog views.

I came to this realisation on Friday night at a gig. I was at the Islington Memorial Hall listening to The Devil Makes Three and, instead of relaxing, dancing and enjoying myself, all I could think about was money. Even at that moment, I couldn't stop thinking about whether or not I'll have enough money to go to Canada.

Truth is, I don't really believe I deserve money. My parents supported me a lot financially growing up and they still do, but all this does is make me feel ashamed. Ashamed because, despite everything I've achieved, I still struggle with the most basic of tasks. Ashamed…

Review: Just by Jenny Morton Potts

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Just by Jenny Morton Potts
Book tour alert

This week, I was lucky enough to be sent a copy of Just by Jenny Morton Potts. As with Death before Dishonour by Kenny Hyman, it was unlike anything I've ever read before and, whilst a little OTT in some places (a broad statement from me I know) I still really enjoyed it.

It's not exactly the most classic plot line. The protagonist, a dentist named Lucienne, finds out her ex is dead whilst her son is in Libya doing something that vaguely involves clearing dead bodies off of a beach (although I'm sure there's a more pc term for that, that's what I'm sticking with). Whilst there her son falls for another doctor and, via an accidental pregnancy, a faked death and an illegal boat ride, everything vaguely turns out alright at the end.

Return to my part about it being a little over the top. However, the reason I enjoyed it had a lot less to do with the plot line and more to do with the book in itself.

First of all, it's …

The Scented Bones by Angelina Kerner

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First of all, my blog schedule is pretty shocking atm, but I'm hoping to be able to write something longer than an Instagram post soon. While I've been waiting for my fingers linked up with my brain again, I've been taking part in some more book tours. The most recent being about The Scented Bones by Angelina Kerner. 
The first novel in The Svabodina Case Files series, The Scented Bones focuses on the work of Angel Svabodina, an anthropologist just starting out in her field. Embedding herself in a new case, the unexpected arrival, and subsequent disappearance, of an inhuman skeleton, leads Angel into a world of witches, werewolves and vampires. Trying to intricately assemble the thinly worn veil of secrets that surround her current case, she must place herself in the path of the royalty that controls it.  A petrifyingly entertaining read, it's a must for fans of Laurell K. Hamilton's Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter series,


Excerpt 
I turned around in time to see a black…

BLOG TOUR: The Girl in the Storm

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When I was at uni, I had two types of books on my shelves. The ones on my module reading lists, books I'd read but not necessarily enjoyed, and a hench ass pile of trashy favourites with appalling storylines.

One of these types of genres that I love so much is dystopian YA fiction. An odd one I know, but give me a series where an entire city has been wiped out by killer rain or a high school that's on lockdown because of a ridiculously specific virus that destroys the minds and bodies of anyone over the age of 18 and I'm there, which is why I signed up for this latest book tour.

The Girl in the Storm by Ceri A. Lowe focuses on the lives of a group of people living in the aftermath of a series of deadly storms. A percentage of people seemed to be living above ground, and a percentage below. I say seemed to be because there was one big, big flaw with this book.

I had no idea what was going on.

The Girl in the Storm is the second part of the Paradigm trilogy and, having not …

My Imaginary Friend

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One of the problems with BPD is that my brain never shuts up, not really. I'm always focusing and obsessing about something, be it a hobby or a thought or a book or a film. I'm constantly obsessing and it's exhausting.

The big problem with these obsessions is that they don't always exist, not really. I've always wanted to be loved, more than anything. As a teenager, I used to watch One Tree Hill and sob and sob and sob because I wanted so badly to find a relationship like the ones they pictured on the show. I craved for someone to hold me, to want me, to love me. I needed it more than I could ever possibly describe but, in true BPD fashion, I thought it was impossible, so I pretended it didn't exist.

Ironically, that feeling is still there, but it's also accompanied by a refusal to get romantically close to people. I joke about my commitment phobia but it really is a big part of my life. BPD is characterised by a fear of abandonment, so I've always ref…

REVIEW: If You Love Me I'm Yours, Lizzie Chantree

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I won't lie, when I agreed to take part in this book tour, reviewing If You Love Me I'm Yours by Lizzie Chantree, I expected to hate it. I signed up last minute because I was between books and wanted something to do that felt vaguely productive. Downloading it onto my iPad, I started it this weekend with little to no expectations, thinking it would be nothing more than a smushy chick-lit that would make me roll my eyes so far back in my head they'd detach and get stuck somewhere beneath my eyebrows.

Oh, how wrong I was.

For the first time in a very long time, I connected with the character I was reading about. Maud is a cripplingly insecure school teacher with incredible artistic talent that she hides from the world as a result of her family's disapproval. She tries and tries to get them to understand her passion for art but it falls on deaf and discouraging, ears. To release her inner Georgia O'Keefe, she starts leaving paintings around her local town with the si…

Jessica, you're being a fucktard

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I'm in a situation at the moment that's draining my confidence faster than cum leaving a virgin's penis when he first ejaculates on his high school girlfriend. I'm crying in the middle of the day, drowning in anxiety and altogether I'm just fucking miserable.

It's shit.

Thing is, I'm ALLOWING this bs to happen. I'm sitting back and accepting the world making me feel like this when, in reality, I shouldn't be. If I can put a rapist in prison, I can mother fucking well stand up for my cunting self. I'm so so done with feeling like this.

When it comes to self-confidence, my high score has never been great. Hours spent as a teenager screeching at my reflection begging for an answer to why I was so ugly, carving the word fat into my arm, getting cunted and fucking random strangers in exchange for a shred of recognition that would up my esteem nothing more than a hair. It's not something I'm used to having but now I've had it, I miss it.