If God meant us to walk everywhere, he wouldn't have given us little chefs.

Only two more weeks of having a job, yet the panic has not yet set in properly. Having said that, I had a nightmare about it all last night, so I guess it must be subconsciously affecting me. Still, mustn’t let a thing like unemployment get in the way of a good time. As it was pointed out to me this morning, this is the best time of year to be at home, telly-wise.

What didn’t seem like a promising weekend actually ended on a high note. Sunday night was probably the only time I didn’t have some sort of misery threatening to engulf me (that sounds lame I know, but that’s sort of how it felt). Thing is, I should be so used to all of this by now but I’m not, or not as much as I would like in any event. When I’m sad it feels like I can’t do anything, like literally nothing. And then when I’m happy, I worry about when I won’t be happy and how it would be better to not have the highs as it makes the lows feel even worse. Still, at least I am having different varieties of moods. A few months ago I was being told that I should take anti-depressants, and that it would make the bad times less bad but the good times less good, just sort of soften the edges or something, I just started screaming “it’s all shit, it’s all shit, you have no idea!” So yeah, I guess I should take heart in the fact that at least now I don’t just have one mood: abject misery.

I don’t know where all of that came from.

Anyway, the weekend. C got offered the job she was after so we went to the pub where her boyfriend works and had a couple of pints with them. They’re such an adorable couple. N and I went to Nando’s. On Saturday I woke up a bit later than expected and nearly cried and then went back to my flat. I moved everything in my old room to my new room, thinking that the new housemate would be arriving at midday (given that by the time I got to the flat, it was half twelve, I foresaw a challenge to get everything done in time). At one, #1 told me that actually, he would be arriving at five as he’d just woken up on his friend’s sofa and was still too pissed to drive, so I sat down with a mug of hot chocolate and read one of #2’s trashy magazines. Then I cleaned my old room and made it look all spick and span, and tried to make my new room bear less of resemblance to Dresden. When finally the new housemate arrived (I guess he is #4), we all (ie me, #1 and her new gentleman friend, who is absurdly strong) helped him move his stuff, and then we all had a beer on the balcony, which was pretty nice.

Having spent a bit more time trying to sort out my room, I left to go to the pub. As I was waiting at the bus stop, I heard a couple having a heated conversation. I wasn’t eavesdropping; they were right next to me. Anyway, it was horrible. The guy was being so nasty to the woman, just really callous and cruel. At first I just thought “what a knob” but then I realised that he sounded exactly like my ex and that he was doing exactly what my ex used to do, and it made me feel really sorry for the woman, and generally quite miserable. I tried to explain this to #1 on Sunday but she didn’t really understand because she doesn’t know what he did, but she was still very sweet about it. The woman was crying on the bus but trying to pretend that she wasn’t. I wanted to throw the man under the wheels of oncoming traffic and tell the woman to run away because he would probably hit her when they got home, but he was pure evil and I couldn’t go anywhere near him.

Once I got into town, however, I was feeling alright and apparently looking like the duchess of Hong Kong (the general cleverness and kudos of this reference bypassed me as I am culturally bankrupt). Normal stuff like being in a pub and having a drink ensued. I gleaned more important knowledge from a man I am starting to believe knows everything. Facts learnt so far: 1) Never trust a man with grey hair (being bald is fine though). 2) Cassette tapes are so much better than any other format. 3) Leonardo da Vinci was the greatest man ever to live. 4) Leonardo da Vinci did not invent post-it notes but he did invent a way of breathing under water that is more advanced than my idea of a hosepipe going up to the surface (the poor mans snorkelling). 5) I am a philistine because I said ‘The Last Supper’ was “a bit rubbish”. Almost better than wikipedia, I think you’ll agree. A large discussion ensued about most memorable gigs, and I could not for the life of me think of any. Maybe because I used to be so pissed that I couldn’t remember anything, and what I tend to remember are the weird little details, like someone in the audiences hair, or a smile, or the children (there’s always children when you least expect them), or spending the whole night throwing lit cigarettes at someone’s feet.

On Sunday I felt weirder than weird and was generally stupid, causing #1 to tell me that I should stop being such a pain in the arse and that I was acting like a silly. I went to Primark and bought some shoes and a jacket that I can only describe as this season’s key look for me, before waiting for 40 minutes for the bloody bus and being accosted by a girl from my office. Back home, #4 announced that he wanted to change the name of our flat, and that he didn’t want to be associated with “camp” anything. Upstart. He’s only just in the door and he’s trying to destroy his fellow campers. I went to sit in my room for a while, and ended up sitting on the floor with the lights off and the curtains drawn, feeling very melancholy. I’d been invited up to Stoke Newington but I couldn’t face leaving the flat, let alone going all the way to north London. I could hear my housemates talking and laughing but I couldn’t face going out and talking to them, so I just stayed exactly where I was and waited for something to change or some sort of epiphany. Finally, in the evening, I was able to do something. I made a cup of tea, boiled some rice and then sorted out some more of my stuff, at which point I found my really old Pink Floyd tape! So that helped to cheer me up. I went to the same school (ish) as Pink Floyd (when they were there it was Cambridge Grammar School for Boys, which it obviously wasn’t when I was there: contrary to popular belief, I am not a man). Full of the joys of spring and happy that I was a functioning human being again instead of a misery ridden effigy, I went to bother #1, who was pretending to revise. She’s started doing this thing whereby whenever she says something about computers/the internet/typing in general, she does this hand motion, like she is typing. But it looks like a monkey playing the piano. She’s trying to stop doing it, but I am making a conscious effort to start doing it, along with the hand motions for talking on the phone, going for a run, driving, swimming, sleeping and whatever else I can come up with. We acted out our favourite parts of the Royle Family (I’d forgotten just how excellent that programme is) before practicing the Peter Kay walking to the dance floor walk. Good times, yet if she fails her law exam because of me and my “hilarity” I don’t think I will ever be able to show my face in these here parts again.

I wasted yet more time and then took the bus to Camberwell, and walked to Peckham. Walking always makes me feel better, so I thought it would be a good idea to walk off the last bit of my weird mood, even though I don’t particularly like walking through Camberwell. Still, walking late at night while talking to yourself is always fun, and by the time I got to N’s, I was in a really good mood and I think he was pleased to see me without a face like I’d been slapped with a wet fish. Which made me even more happy.

Progress report on the CV: nothing done.
Estimated time of completion: end of day.
Likelihood of getting a job: next to zero.
Fear, on a scale of 1 – 10: twelve.