Ok so im writing this tipsy. I get this admission over and done with in case any elements of this don’t make sense or if this entire post is somewhat brief.
Met up with my gay mafia contingent, Harry and Rachel, to plan our event. We assume it will be fab, and it will. We had an agenda all organised to make sure all avenues were covered. Two pints and a glass of red later, it was a case of “yeah yeah, done that”.
Work today was ok, no surprises, some long overdue stuff covered and all in all, successful. I had no plans during the day so hit TK at lunch. I’m learning this restraint thing well. I think the promise of Cheshire Oaks is making me hold off on any impulse purchasing. At least until Saturday that is. I know come Saturday I will be desperate to buy anything I like. Not least because it is a bit depressing Pete is going off without me. I’ll miss him, and I’m not afraid of being so sentimental as to admit this. It’s a bit sad I’m even going two nights without him by my side.
I’m a bit surprised I’m so sentimental. I like to think I’m bad ass. I’m not. I’m just a bit soppy. I plan a bake off to fill the void. If I don’t have Pete, well I need cake. And icing. And brownies. It’s natural, replace like with like. Love and comfort are hand in glove, so it should lead to comfort food. That’s why sad lonely people are fat. And so are their cats. They eat shit. I had some crap tonight. A chicken and pancetta pizza with a rocket salad side. And wine. Lots of. I love school night nights out, it feels like real rebellion. Like I am defying logic or the natural order of events by being drunk on a Thursday. When I was 23 this was common or garden. At 30, it’s beyond rare, it is almost unthinkable. But I like it. I felt like I was city loving for a change. As if I would if I was living in London or Paris and had a high flying job that lead me to network midweek and make it in for 9am the next day. The only problem I have is that the next day is a reality. Not a theoretical possibility. And it’s going to be like all manner of hell with sore head and rank mouth.
God help me. God help us all. Because no one should cope with sore head, sore eyes and fuzzy teeth. I’m a good person. I should be sober watching crap Telly again. Last night was fun like that. But sod it, it’s an occasional blow out, and I have enjoyed the rebellion of it all!
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