God, how much do I hate writing 'first' anythings? Blogs, pages in novel, paragraphs in an essay... Let's face it, they're all annoying as hell.

So, I suppose I should say something about who I am. I'm eighteen, studying French and German at a lovely Northern university. I've lived on a very crappy, dull island all my life, though I don't anymore - when I'm not in the UK, I'm in a wonderful country in the EU where my parents decided to retire. Did I say wonderful? Sorry, I meant wonderfully dull. I love it, don't get me wrong... it's just very boring when you're stuck in the middle of the country with nobody but PARENTS to keep you company!

What else is there to say about me? I live with some very lovely people - there's my J, who's definitely my best friend up here. She shares my obsession with musicals, Friends, hot chocolate, Starbucks... Then there's D, who kids himself that people don't guess he's gay. Yes, darling D, when people see you coming towards them daintily in your pointy shoes, flicking your straightened hair out of your eyes, your hips swinging elegantly, they think 'there's a heterosexual all the way'. God love him.

I can't be bothered to go into the details of my lovely best friends, suffice to say nine of them live with me/in the blocks around me and I love them all to bits. It was T's twentieth today, actually; me and J made him a cake in the shape of a pair of legs with iced pants around their ankles. He has a habit of stripping when drunk..

Of course, I don't define myself by my friends, much as I adore them. I suppose I do that with my writing... Yes, *stands up* my name is Misty and I'm an unpublished author. Let's face it, who isn't these days?! But I'm not all that bothered about the unpublished part at the moment - I've promised myself I'll get published by the time I'm thirty. Eleven and a bit years to go, I've written two books since I was fourteen... Sorted!

What else is there to say about me? Not a lot I suppose. Just your average penniless student, trying to stretch the student grant to cover a hefty strawberries and cream frappucino addiction and a serious problem passing shoe shops without being sucked in. The only reason I'm writing this blog is that it's just before midnight and I can feel a wave of depression coming on, and if I cut myself again D will not be happy (he's my agony aunt). Yeah, whatever, I cut myself, I get depressed - although I'm happier now than I ever have been in my life, sometimes I start to feel randomly numb and feeling something is better than nothing.

Ah, shit, I'm talking in paradoxes again. But I don't believe in deleting things I've typed (apart from spelling mistakes: grammar fiend). So I'll let that lie. I fully expect this to be the least read blog on this website, purely because god only knows if I've managed to set it up correctly! It can be a way for me to babble on and pretend people are reading. It'll make me feel smug...

Right, I'm going to go and make myself a jacket potato now - I'm a hungry insomniac, nothing wrong with that! And I like potatoes, a lot. Whoever said baked beans were the best student food was a madman, potatoes are the way forward. I've managed to lose half a stone on an all-carb diet, god knows what's going on there...

Who knows if I'll write on this again? Every time I've started any other type of diary I've given up after about ten minutes, so fingers crossed for this poor thing!

Misty x