Well. This is the first time in these 40 days I have felt really shit about myself and sat weeping for an hour, so I suppose that's not bad, is it? Let's spin this positively, rather than focussing on me being a pathetic defeatist inert sluglike coward loser idiot, etc etc etc.
(There is nothing really wrong. I have just come back from a jolly time in glittery central London with lovely friends to my quiet, rainy Belgian suburb and spent the day trying to find a convincing way to write about a period in my life when I was being a monumental shithead. And failing. Then I got a minor work knock-back at the end of the day. THERE IS NO MYSTERY HERE ALL IS CLEAR)
Good things (hmm, we have been here before 8000 times in 40 days, haven't we. Never mind. They remain true):
- Traditional Friday pizza, not dodgy delivery one we tried last week;
- A glass of wine (just one. Very abstemious. Though really I fancy a champagne cocktail, one of the ones with a boozed up sugar lump served in a saucer shaped glass);
- The comments on the last post. There were some terrible household crimes. AWFUL. I laughed.
- Loved ones not merely tolerant of my wobble but actively kind when 'STFU now' would have been a legitimate response.
- Another baby otter video via Karen (he's getting so big! They grow up so fast, don't they, etc etc). This is immensely worth watching for (i) wind-up lobster (ii) post bathe fluffiness.
- Bath (no wind up lobster, fluffiness or, mercifully, YouTube footage) with Dead Sea Salt and last remaining dregs of Aromatherapy Associates oil ("morning revive" beggars can't be choosers, and I don't feel violently revived) whilst finishing book (excellent).
F: The first day is always the hardest. It's the price you pay for a hiatus. The next day will be a mite easier.
E: THIS WAS THE SECOND DAY.
F: FINE, DAY THREE WILL BE BETTER. Shit, now I'm depressed and weepy. Damn you Emma.
B: Sent me this link about a naked man on the subway.
M: suggested exercise, which got her nul points but then got thousands back by using the expression "shove them up your blowhole"
(It is just a shame none of these people live within 500 miles of me. )
- A nice verveine in bed because I am 900 years old.
Tomorrow will be better if for no other reason than I have the settled intention of buying a large tiramisu. Planning for success, see.