Day 52.

Oh. What's occurring? 

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Today I woke up with that seemingly common expression of mine lately. That daft grin on my face. That unbelievably ridiculous face that says 'I am far too happy I think I might burst'. The kind of face that can only imply that I, Miss Hannah Louise Case, am one happy little bean with no inclination to feel bad about anything ever again. This is surreal. It's surreal because this isn't natural to me. I am not used to this feeling. Not for this length of time anyway. I feel refreshed. Brand new. Uncontrollably relaxed and content. I go to bed with my jaw aching from smiling so much. 

I decided this morning that today was to be a bra-less, make up free kind of day with plenty of Marvin Gaye, London Grammar and Karima Francis easy listening joys. Not forgetting Maverick Sabre too of course. That voice is far too fuckable. Coupled with the Snapchats I am getting and speaking to Ronnie, it's going splendidly thus far. I really don't understand what I have done to deserve being so content. Maybe karma is finally showing up and giving me a break. Fingers crossed the baddies get their comeuppance soon too. "Lies, lies, your beautiful lies are bewitching their minds and blinding their eyes." 

I was not supplied with breasts in this life time for some reason. Stupid. Yet my fascination with them is pretty much on par with my admiration for Gavin and Stacy or Dawn French who, ironically, has tits the size of Everest. They have such daft names too. Bangers, baps, fun bags, jugs, boobs etc. They are the source of hours of amusement. Well they are for me anyway; especially when Bird let's me motorboat her. My practically flat chest is joyous and I am not particularly interested in bumping them up to the size where you have to carry them around in a wheelbarrow all day. I can jump, I don't get back ache, I don't have stretch marks and I don't get gawped at. Unless, of course, I have used my magic trick and allowed myself a slight cleavage on a Friday night just so Bird can motorboat me. Grief, I really should reassess my relationship with her. It's just wrong on every level possible. 

Tomorrow I begin my directing debut. All assuming people entertain the possibility of rehearsals on a Tuesday, otherwise I will be having a fairly mediocre winter with no joyous acting to enjoy for a few months. I will have to sit, in charge of a group of seasoned directing 'pros', and pitch my ideas and not allow anyone to interfere. This is the only downside to doing this. People assume their roles before I have chance to even decide myself. I will be shaking a few things up in my little world of am-dram and I will be interested to see who sticks around once I've done so. I am still nervous though. Luckily I have my producer to do all the boring bits that I don't want to do and he is one of the loveliest people ever. I am like some weird superhuman to them that knows it all apparently considering their meagre acting experience and the fact I have studied both drama and performing arts. It's always 'ask Hannah, she will know. She can make this better.' And so I will.

I had a fantastic opportunity arise yesterday evening that, if I hadn't bothered to read, I would have missed altogether. An opportunity for me to potentially, in the future, become paid for my writing. An opportunity I would be a fool to miss considering my mind is only settled once I have written. I am going to put my heart and soul in to it as I will, of course, be mainly writing about dating and sex which, seem to be something I like writing about...

Excuse me whilst I go and compose myself from the overly girly and blushing wreck that I have just been reduced to.

Hannah xox