"They'd get their arseholes pierced if they could only fit them in the machine!"

Oh, I am one pissed off little lamb today. I have conjunctivitis. I am seriously annoyed. My eyes really REALLY hurt and they won’t stop watering, so I keep getting asked if I’m okay. I look like I’ve been crying for days, which I suppose I have, though not because I want to- my eyes have taken on a life of their own, and so I have constant tears streaming down my face. Not to mention the gunk that keeps filling my eyes. Oh god, this is disgusting. I am clearly being punished for something.

To add insult to injury (or if not injury as such, illness), I am having to wear my glasses to work. Now, I hate my glasses. I look like a moron. I really look terrible. I avoid wearing my glasses if I possibly can. The only people who’ve ever seen me with them on, since I got contact lenses seven years ago, are the people that I’ve lived with (ie. family, housemates and old housemates). I don’t think even G has ever seen them and I went out with him for a year. And now… I’m wearing them at work. My colleague told me I look intellectual but I swear if anyone laughs at me I will hide under my desk the rest of the day. Thankfully I got in late and missed the press meeting. I’ve emailed R and C and asked them not to laugh at me. R said she’d try not to do it in front of me.

Oh grump grump grump.

Other than having an acute pain in my eyes, I’ve had a good weekend. And even right now, despite the impending laughter and the constant discomfort, I’m in a good mood really. So I suppose I’m not so much a pissed off lamb as a half-blind-but-still-seeing-the-funny-side-of-it-kinda lamb.

The weekend got off to a good start, with a surprisingly hilarious trip to Elephant and Castle with C, and some raucous conversation on the train. Sometimes we are like children, but that’s quite fun. I had a lovely conversation with the lovely N, which made me feel very good.

After eating and attempting to wash my hair, I went over to S’s, where we (or mainly me, thinking back on it) drank nasty nasty cheap white wine and pretended that we weren’t smoking, thanks to the draconian no smoking rule in the bar (yeah, that’s LSE, always ahead of the fucking times). Then went to Camden, where we drank (in hindsight) too many shots. S insisted we drank sambuca because it’s named after her. It’s not. She’s blatantly named after the drink, not the other way round. I was a bit shy because there were new people and I secretly contemplated going home, but then I drank more and stopped being shy and they said they liked me anyway. We headed off to the Barfly where we did more shots and drank too much vodka and danced like idiots. There was a band playing upstairs who were absolutely rubbish. The crowd had formed a semi circle around the stage, so we stood in this space and I pointed out (quite loudly it seemed) that the singer’s jeans were far too tight and that he looked ridiculous. All the trendy Camden bastards looked at me with pity in their eyes, but I didn’t really care because I was busy trying not to fall over. We went back downstairs and to celebrate the fact that I’m going to stay in London, I had some more shots and talked to the two girls I’d been a bit scared of. I’m always a bit scared of new people, especially if I’ve heard lots about them and they seem really cool. There was no need to worry so much (not that I can help worrying, of course) as it was all good.

Eventually we left and walked down to the station where S and I decided we wanted falafel, but managed to lose everyone. SH came and found us in the falafel shop and gave us a look that said “oh god, you’re such fucking pissheads” or something along those lines. Quite right, to be honest, as we were. Everyone else went (though we didn’t realise this til the morning) and we walked back, laughing so hard I nearly fell in the road. S is so much fun, she just makes me laugh so much. Back at hers, I sent a drunken text to N and then passed out on S’s bed, fully clothed. S sent an email to someone she shouldn’t have and then hit me, because if I’d been awake I would have stopped her, or something like that. I have no recollection of this.

In the morning I woke up to find S laughing at me for still wearing my clothes. I opened one eye and then went back to sleep. S decided that sharing a single bed with someone who rolled over (and pushed her out of bed… oops… sorry!) was not the best plan and went to eat brunch. I slept a bit more and woke up in a panic because I didn’t know where she was and I felt really bad for YET AGAIN stealing her bed. I felt like death, but a text from N cheered me up a lot. After a cup of coffee and some laughing at myspace pictures (especially those of girls who look like eight year old boys with wigs), I headed home, where I cooked some food and lay on my bed for a while.

#1 and I decided to go to the cinema. I hadn’t been in ages. #2 was going to some Christian party, and invited us, but I would rather stick pins in my eyes than hang out with a bunch of bigoted arseholes getting drunk on a small white wine. We headed over to Clapham and bought tickets to ‘Good Night and Good Luck’ for an extortionate eight quid a shot. We nipped into a bar across the road for a glass of wine and found ourselves sitting next to Will Self. I tried to come across as really intellectual but I felt quite spaced out to be honest and not very clever at all. The film itself was good, though I think it missed a couple of punches. For example, some of the characters were underdeveloped, which didn’t lend much credibility to the story (although, obviously, I knew the story was true). Plus, it seemed a lot like it was preaching to the converted. It was quite interesting in the way it was similar to modern American society, but I don’t think my heart was really in it. We went home. I drank tea and cleaned the kitchen. Then I lay in bed, completely unable to sleep.

On Sunday morning I jumped out of bed, but not before checking my phone to see if N had sent me a text. He hadn’t, but I didn’t have any time to lose. It was 10:30, which meant the grand prix coverage was starting. I went to the kitchen and knocked back a cup of tea, while talking to the television. I would have watched it in the living room but I couldn’t, as #2 and her friend were in there. They decided to come into the kitchen and I had to move. I won’t go into the whole spiel about our house issues now… that can be saved for another day. Anyway, the grand prix was excellent. I brought a blanket into the living room and drank coffee with tears falling down my face. It was bloody marvellous though. Little Nico Rosberg, who’s only 20 and was in his first GP, came 7th, which was very impressive. I shouted a lot when Fernando overtook Schumacher. I wish that boring bastard would retire. I laughed when Massa, the fat Ferrari child, spun his car. He’s so rubbish.

The rest of Sunday was passed by mooching around and chatting to #1 and crying in her room. She was actually crying, whereas I was crying by default. Her stupid boyfriend is moving to LA and didn’t get round to telling her. What a bastard. I kept repeating, “Why would anyone do that?” I don’t understand how people can be so awful. She told me that all men were stupid and that all they ever do is mess you about. She’s older and wiser than me so I suppose I should listen but I think N is different. I told her so, and she said that he wouldn’t be and that I was deluding myself. I don’t think I am, but I suppose that’s the thing with delusion, isn’t it? I hope he’s not like that. I think he’s special. She told me that she was glad I feel like that but that I would get hurt- but that she would be there to make me cups of tea when that happened.

I went to my room and felt really shit for a while. I thought about never going out again. I tried to decide if I was a bad person, and came to the conclusion that I probably wasn’t but that I hadn’t always done the most sensible things. For example, the bender I went on after I split up with my ex was not one of my wisest moves. Thankfully I’m over that now. But just because I’m over all of that, is it particularly wise to think that N won’t hurt me? Probably not. #1 thinks I should be more wary. I decided I would try to be a better person and sat in my room with the lights off for a bit.

Eventually we decided that we should stop moping and go to the pub, which we did. That made things a bit better. On the way home, N called me, as he’d just got home from Paris, and we talked for a while, which left a big smile on my face for the rest of the evening. Fuck being wary. I really like him. What’s the point of not doing things in case you get hurt? At the risk of sounding like I’m talking out of my arse, I do think he’s really special and different and I don’t think he’ll hurt me- or not intentionally anyway. And I can’t be wary about someone who makes me smile every time I think of them.

So, in conclusion, I may have conjunctivitis and a rubbish job and no money and no cat and immense paranoia, but I can’t stop smiling because I have lovely friends and a beautiful home (yes, a home!) and it’s almost sunny and N makes me happy. This is good.