The Magic Book

The new year has gone off with a bang. Seriously while typing that the wind slammed my bedroom door shut.

My nails are no longer blue but a shade of forest green. My room is still a complete mess. I broke my glasses and I got an illness and the antibiotics are making me drowsy and wanting to sleep all day. My depression has been in full force and I really wish it would just piss off and leave me alone because this isn't helping me in my decision to finally get off my anti depressant.

What I wanted to write about was my magic book. It's quite stupid really. Years ago I got an oracle book, kind of like those 8 balls you used to be able to get where you ask it a question, shake it around and it would give you an answer. With this one you concentrate, ask a question and flick through pages until you felt the need to stop and that page would have your answer. Mr Dancing Butterflies will no doubt read this so I will re word the question I asked my magical book. One evening I asked my book jokingly if I would ever meet a boy again and the page I ended up stopping on said this - rely on the help of a stranger.

Lately I keep thinking about that stupid book and what it said. Even though I don't believe in this book or anything like it at all, I still find it weird.