stupid stupidness

Good god, I have no idea where to start with this one.

I have just typed seven different sentences and deleted them all. I have still not managed to do any work. I haven’t even loaded up half the stuff I need to do my work. HR have, however, given me a new contract which I am contemplating throwing in the bin.

I have come to some decisions. Firstly, I am going to stop talking about how I feel to people and I am going to try and make an effort to come across as normal and sane etc. Secondly, I am not going to drink in front of other people. This means I won’t get drunk and be an arsehole, which would be a good thing. I am obviously still going to drink as I need to somehow fill the vacuum inside me. I’ll just have to drink by myself. Thirdly, I am going to go to the doctor tomorrow because it is NOT A GOOD THING to feel like this all the time. And lastly, I am now celibate, although that’s pretty much up for negotiation.

As a result of having made these decision, I feel a little bit more on top of things. I have only cried twice so far today (once because I woke up and felt so empty it hurt, and once because the radio played REM and it reminded me of my ex). So that’s progress anyway.

Yesterday I went out to the shops to get some milk and the papers, and I was wearing my normal it’s-Sunday-and-I’m-mooching-around-the-house outfit (tracksuit bottoms and the ‘LSE Graduate 2005’ tshirt my mum insisted I buy) with some flip flops. The sun was out for the first time in ages and it reminded me so much of Stoke Newington that I wanted to tear my skin off and scream and scream and scream. I had to stop and take deep breaths just so I could carry on. Pretty fucking stupid. The shop is like 100 metres from my flat.

I went to the Southwark Tavern on Friday night with K, B and T. We drank lots of wine and had lots of Bridget Jones-style moments and took the piss out of some people we work with. Afterwards T and I went to get some food and then we walked down to the Elephant, with me talking pretty much non stop. I got the bus home and passed out on my bed, having managed to take most of my clothes off and put at least part of my pyjamas on.

On Saturday I woke up feeling like crap as I hadn’t drunk any water and I’d slept through qualifying. It wasn’t very late, however. I got up and had some tea and decided to clean my room. Amazingly I didn’t stop halfway through (which is a bit of a trait at the moment) and I vacuumed, polished and shined until my room looked less like a pigsty. Of course I managed to completely mis-time everything and I ended up being late to meet N for lunch.

I don’t really want to write about lunch, or what happened later. Or what happened that night or the next morning. I will just say that we had a lovely time until I fucked everything up. And it was cool to hang out with #1 and A, who came along and got pissed and then had sex.

Anyway, N left at about midday on Sunday, and I drank half a bottle of wine but pretended to my housemates that I hadn’t. I wanted to hang out with #1 all day but she was going out. However, despite the difficulties in actually getting to the shop, I bought the newspaper, and sat in the living room reading the whole thing, snuggled under my blanket. I watched the re-run of the Malaysian grand prix, which was pretty boring, apart from the pre-race interviews with Nico Rosberg, who is officially beautiful. The race itself was rubbish, mainly because Kimi Raikkonen was out on the first lap and Nico followed not long after. But also because it was just dull. No real overtaking or anything like that.

I had a couple of interesting phone calls. Firstly, from someone I’d never spoken to before but I know lots about, thanks to the big bad world of the internet. It was odd. He sounded nothing like I thought he would. I liked talking to him but it freaked me out a little bit, mainly because I am socially inept and can’t deal with new situations and so on. The Irish guy (him of the couple of odd dates who called me opinionated, while on the bloody date) also called me and asked if I was okay. He’d called the night before and I said something like, “fuck off” or something equally nice, but for some reason he still wants to be my friend and he said he’d kick anyone who was mean to me. We’re going to the cinema tomorrow because now he is rich, and he said he wanted to spend his money on me because I’m poor. I can’t really complain. Though I did warn him that if he tries to touch me I will probably hit him. Lastly, I spoke to my mum for two hours or something, which was good. I’d been thinking about going to stay with her for a bit, but I think she is too busy to have me to stay. It was good to talk to her, and she said nice things, like that she thought I was doing really well and that I shouldn’t think that I was wasting my life, post-uni and all. Which I can’t help but think. I told her that I miss my old life.

It’s funny, because I don’t know that I was really happy in my old life. I miss it a lot. I miss my house and my cat and the routine of it all and the words that no one else understood in our stupid made up language I had with my ex, that I still try and use but can’t. I don’t know what I miss the most. I think I even miss my old job. Thinking about this hurts a lot.