Discovery of the ID, trips around the world, and dead animals

It's not that I haven't been writing, it's more that I've been writing to people, frantic conversations that I've just got to answer, filling up the screen, in a less pretty way, but the quickest way, the most simple way to get everything out there that I need to. It's like one of those discovery things, you know, discover other people, rediscover myself..
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I walked through the corridor and had a sudden feeling that the ID card I was wearing wasn't mine anymore. The ID had drifted away from who I was. The hair colours were vastly different, and I looked at myself in the mirror and couldn't even make the expression on the ID card person's face. I've checked the ID many times and it still seems to have the same name as previously, unless the place and name have swapped over, and my name is now "Chandlers Ford", which is entirely possible.
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I'm going to inherit about £4000. What should I do with it? I could do a Masters in something and work part-time, or go to a foreign country and do voluntary work, or buy stuff like a laptop and much Vanilla Diet Coke, or go on a trip around the world, or jump out of maybe, 30 aeroplanes, or spend a year not spending much at all and editing my novel. I don't know, but an escape is looking partially viable.
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Today I've seen a dead bird (maybe a pigeon), a dead fly, and a dead worm.

Nettles, Strawberries, Jazz, Pixels

I got stung by stinging nettles in the dark. My arm tingled and tingled, and then just went numb.
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Sticky with factor 25 suncream, I sat in a strawberry field and talked about hallucinogens. The fruit was so warm when I devoured it.
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At the docks I sipped cider and listened to jazz music with my mum. We watched people climbing up the boats.
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I said "ki" to the tree and "benrina" to the rat, as I learnt Japanese in the park, while drinking apple milkshake. All you can eat pizza. All you can eat pixxa. All you can eat pixels.

People, some of whom were on the bus yesterday

She closes her eyes more than most people and even her blinking is somehow more deep. She's scared that in the final moments all she'll see is soil, as if she were a daffodil bulb, but she won't be able to smell it. She underestimates the impact that her sister's sunglasses will have on her life. She cannot remember the last time she used a postbox and hopes they still work in the same way they used to. Her mood fluctuates between being vacant and being self-assured. She's unconcerned about what will happen and doesn't even know where to get off the bus. She tries to untangle her hair with her fingers and regrets wearing it in a ponytail. She wonders if there are flies in her gum from when she last opened her mouth. She thinks that everyone looks at her legs as if they were the only legs they'd ever seen and wonders if she has pigeon ankles. She thinks that the bad bleach job might detract from the expression on her face which gives away that she might be unhappy. She doesn't expect the child in front of her to stop moving, abruptly.