Hi Friend!

Thanks for stopping by. I am eating a mango right now so I will keep this short so I don’t get the keyboard too sticky.

This is my diary and it is largely NSFW. You got a problem with crudely drawn penii randomly invading your face space, this is probably not the place for you. If you are new here then in the sidebar, labelled appropriately, you will find a short list of what might be my better posts you can use as a jumping off point, although it is totally subjective and maybe you disagree, if so, I would like any negative feedback in the form of a compliment sandwich such as you are so very interesting although your blogs are far too long but you have awesome legs.

Farewell to my conical dog

My dog of 13 years, the best dog in the world as far as my family and non-dog owner friends are concerned, has been rapidly getting older and slower and more arthritic. My mum called me today and told me through tears that our dog fell over today and just couldn’t get her feet back under her. The vet who’s looked after her since she was a puppy and seen her through countless operations because dammit that animal never got any sense, always running out and getting hit by cars… well, the vet said “you have to let that dog keep her dignity.”

And my mum is going to put her down tonight, or maybe tomorrow, I’m waiting on an update. But oh, I’m so so sad. When she first told me I was mostly just sad for my mum because the dog has been like a replacement child since I left home, and she’s my mum’s friend and companion and she’s really part of the family. But then I started really thinking back and to realise the full weight of her part in my life…

We got her when I was 12. I had a bunch of cats before that but they kept getting hit by cars and dying in the same spot near our house and I was so heartbroken, I said no more cats! I don’t know why I thought  it would be easier to lose a dog, but hey. I was 12, and I had loved those cats so much I couldn’t imagine a stupid dog would worm its way into my heart so easily.

The other reason for getting a dog was that as a 12 year old with not a whole lot of friends, I had this fantasy that if i had a puppy, I would be out walking my cute puppy and all the young attractive guys would be hanging out and they’d see my puppy and pet it and ask me questions and then ask me out or something. I don’t know, I guess I thought life was like in sex and the city where even if you look like a giant tanned foot, the world was full of good looking peope ready to make a move if you just give them a meet cute.

I begged my parents to let me get a dog. They said no, a dog is so much hard work. You have to walk it every day. You have to train it. I said yes, I promise, I’ll walk it everywhere. All the time. I pictured myself with my dog hanging out with the cool kids and my dog protecting me from rapists and barking at people who wanted to get all up in my grill. And I’d train my dog so well it would be able to do amazing tricks and then I’d have even more friends. And my dog would be a hero dog. To my parents I played up on the whole protection, defence, and I’d be getting some outdoor excercise aspects. They believed me. For some reason.

I remember the day I picked out this shivering little puppy from a group of its yelping brothers and sisters who were all shitting and jumping up at me. She was the little sad looking one, extremely cute, the size of my hand, so goddamn cute… She was a little sad puppy and she was so afraid and I took her home and she shat all over me but I didn’t care too much because she was so cute and little.

She was so afraid at first I felt guilty for taking her from her family and I gave her my sweatshirt to sleep with because it smelt like me, and I cleaned up after her and fed her and cared for her. We soon realised she wasn’t the sweet, scared, runt of the litter. She was riddled with worms. Once the worms were all gone which was not a pretty few days…. we discovered the kind of animal we had committed to. She didn’t just want a little shuffle down the cul-de-sac, she wanted to climb mountains and run up hills and swim in the sea and she wanted the ball thrown for her a million times a day and she never lost it even when I tried to hide it from her because it was gross and covered in slime. If I had kept this activity up I would have probably been quite fit…

Except I soon got bored of the repetitive nature of responsibility and maybe got a new sims game and my mum stepped in and raised the puppy. I was still there for the fun times and for cuddles but frankly after a couple of short, boring walks with my extremely cute dog, I realised it might have been a good conversation starter but that didn’t help the fact that there were no hunks or gangs of cool, friendly pre-teens in my area.

So my mum was responsible for feeding her, walking her, washing her, etc. The job of disciplinarian… well I guess no one thought of that. My dog was fun, great with kids, great at  dealing with parties, sociable, playful, sweet, loving, but she didn’t exactly follow any orders, ever. But she was very sweet and gentle.

When I was a teenager and boys were mean and broke my heart or didn’t call or didn’t treat me nicely, or girls were bitchy and left me out, when I wasn’t invited to a party or someone said “god Abby do you ever shut up?” or someone accidentally said something that I had a great personality which was more important than looks, or my parents yelled at me…

My dog was there, not understanding but just resting her pointy long nose on my knee and pushing me over the edge into tears. I cried so many tears into her silky fur, hugging her tight and wishing she could talk so we could be friends, because I knew she’d be the best friend ever. She was there for me all the time. She had person eyes, understanding soft brown eyes like a person. I sang songs to her, silly nonsensical songs about how she was a dog, how she looked like a dog, and how she looked like an aardvark, and how she was my conical dog as when she sat on her back legs and you pointed her nose up in the air she was shaped like a traffic cone. I liked to speak in a weird accent and say “ears” and fold her ears on top of her head. She has very silky ears. All these weird little things we do with our dogs. They just sit their, no idea what we’re doing, and put up with it and love us.

She’s still alive now but she’s so old and tired and destroyed from 13 years of kicking ass in the dog world. She’s nearly died so many times due to reckless behaviour but she’s always bounced back. Now her legs are so fucked, she can’t stand up, and I guess tomorrow she’ll be gone.

I’m not a huge animal person, I like animals in the wild, doing their own thing. I’m not a huge dog person, I like dogs but I’m not a dog person. But it really does hurt like fuck when you lose someone special in your life, even if they are just a dog.  Yeah, just a dog- she’s the only one in my family who never gave me any shit.

Wow, I did not aniticipate being so fucking upset. I wish I was there to say goodbye, not that it means anything but fuck, I feel awful that I’m not there right now. I’m going to miss her like crazy when I go home…

And my mum is going to be absolutely heartbroken.

 

Instead of going out to look for a job today, I wrote this post about how I really need a job

Everything’s going peachy. I found a place to live with six interesting, different, funny housemates. The house is big and clean and warm, and the kitchen is always full of good smells and people to share food with. There’s a box of red wine with a little tap and a garden out the back, and fuck me, this is perfect.

My French is getting better. In four months I’ve learnt more French than I learnt Italian in two years. I make little jokes in French. Not great sophisticated jokes but I’m starting to be able to express myself and make people laugh, which is more than I hoped for at this stage.

Antoine has settled into my life as my boyfriend, not perfect, not always present but a definite cherry on top of a fulfilling social life when he is around.

I’m happy.

I’m happy… but I can’t find a fucking job.

I haven’t put THAT much energy into the job hunt, it’s true.

I haven’t been out monday to friday pushing my cvs and posting ads… I’ve never had to do that, and a few months of unemployment really saps your motivation, so it’s hard to start.

Whenever I’ve looked for a job before, I’ve done it online and found a shitty but financially decent job in a few days. It’s been a month now, a month of trawling the internet and kicking myself for not doing more physical jobhunting.

But it’s haaaaaard!

I’m intelligent, I’m a qualified English teacher, I speak four fucking languages. GIVE ME A JOB! I’m not even fussy. I just want to do something and get some money coming in because fuck, soon I’ll have to ask for more money from my family and I hate that.

And the thing is, I feel so damn entitled, it just makes it harder to get up early and go do what it takes to probably find work.

Ever since I was little…

I mean, I was a very clever child. I was always top of my class and I never did any work. I think this might have damaged my work ethic. Or meant I failed to ever get one.

When I was a child, I came home from school and then did whatever I felt like doing for the rest of the evening. If I had homework, then maybe I’d do it in ten minutes or maybe I wouldn’t bother at all. I was good at bullshitting. A lot of homework was corrected by the teacher asking us random questions. If you could think on the spot, you could get away with it. So every weekday I got home around 4pm and had around 5 hours to myself, and then I got older and my homework got harder but the teachers were less motivated to check up on us. I didn’t do my homework and maybe I got in more trouble but it didn’t really matter because I still did better than my classmates at tests and exams and on the spot questionning.

And still the workload grew and the teachers smiles and enthusiasm faded and we were teenagers and I got into more trouble but it started to give me a sense of power, being in trouble. I got labelled a nerd because I was in the top class, and I didn’t want to be in the top class because it was full of try hards with no sense of humour or social skills. I didn’t have great social skills either but I wanted to get a life, I wanted to flirt and make jokes and talk about sex and not caring about school was about the only thread of coolness I knew to tug on. 

By the time I got a social life and a group of cool friends who weren’t ashamed to study and do their work, it was too late.

I had grown used to those endless afternoons of time wastage, the decadence of the weekends with nothing to feel guilty about, the only interruption to my fun, free life was monday mornings and even then I was pretty good at avoiding classes.

When the cotton wool came off and the dumped us out into the world I made it one semester into college before realising that my presence wasn’t going to cut it any more. I tried for about a week to STUDY. I got some books and a notepad and tried to copy what my friends were doing but what the fuck were they doing? How did they know this odd skill, writing out bits of the book onto a notepad in clear, concise, multicoloured sections? Were they really going to read back over that shit later? And if the bits you needed to study were handwritten in the notepad, why didn’t they just print a coursebook with that information? I had no fucking clue how to study and I still don’t. My classmates presumed this was me joking around, or pretending to do less work so I’d seem naturally smart. I came across a lot of people who did that. OH MY GOD I totally didn’t study, Arrrgh! And then they’d come out with an 86% on a college history paper, and I know that’s bullshit because our lectures only skimmed the topics, there was no way you could pull an A out of purely absorbing what you heard in class. It was all, go to the library and check out 10 books and filter through them with some mysterious…. how exactly did everyone know where to look, what to look for, what parts to copy out, how to write so neatly?

Since I was 10 I had been handing my essays in to doting teachers on crumpled, food stained loose pages with my handwriting getting smaller and smaller and the reading direction indicated with arrows as I ran out of space on the only page I could find in my mother’s car on monday morning, and had to go back into unused white space at the top.

And hey, I’m not saying I was sooo fucking special here, just that my school wasn’t very big and most of the smart kids in my area went to better schools, except for me because I stubbornly insisted on going where my friends were going, friends I immediately fell out with, I’d like to add….

but everyone else seemed to have learnt these skills to deal with a workload that didn’t even register with me. Teachers liked me when I was young and they let me get away with everything because I read a lot, I was interested, polite, I loved learning and although I was extremely argumentative I was also a really sweet and socially awkward little girl. I don’t know if they thought I was a genius or just felt sorry for me because I didn’t have any brothers or sisters or ahem, many friends… but I snuggled into the preferential treatment and here I am today, too lazy and entitled to do the hard work that life requires. 

Fuck me.

 

the month after the morning after

This past month has been rough. I’m halfheartedly (barely) looking for a job which I desperately need, and I’ve been interpreting the depression as a side effect of being a useless layabout. 

But some friends, talking me through crisis after crisis, have pointed accusing fingers at the morning after pill.

I took it a month ago and got a really awful period this month, but I didn’t really consider it to be affecting my mood. After all, the manufacturer doesn’t list depression or mood swings on their website. None of the medical sites mention anything about mood. 

But then you look on blogs and forums and the horror stories are everywhere. 

I’m always so determined to ignore the wishy washy and go with the medical opinion, that I’ve completely ignored the possibility that this fucking pill has wreaked havoc on me and still hasn’t finished. If they just SAID it caused mood swings I would be better equipped to deal with it and I could have prepared my supposed boyfriend to be there for me…

I’ve spent the past week in a black hole barely able to muster the enthusiasm to see a friend or hang out with my flatmates for half an hour. I need energy to find work but all I think about all day is the hopeless relationship with a guy too young to give me what I need and want, and I’ve even had awful longings for babies and to start my own family.

And I’ve finally come to the conclusion that it’s the fucking pill, the motherfucker has warped my mind and I need it to just be over now so I can actually get my ass in gear and find work.

It’s not him, it’s not my unemployment, although they probably just make it worse.

FUCKING morning after pill.

I will not be taking that again..

But I probably will have to take it again, and then I guess it would be quite helpful to have a supportive boyfriend who actually keeps in touch with me and makes me feel cared for….

because right now I have an amazing boyfriend for two or three days out of every 2 or 3 weeks and then I have nothing, just a message once a week….

Bastards. Ugh. 

Feel like crap.

Please let this hurry up and be over now…

AND now that I think back over the past year…

I was utterly depressed when Antoine left Ireland: A month before he left I took the morning after pill after getting horrifically drunk and having sex that I didn’t remember with a friend.

When I went to visit Antoine in France I took it again, and then I had another serious bout of obsession-depression…

Goddammit, I knew my hopelessness when he left me was over the top but it didn’t even occur to me that that pill had something to do with it.

I can’t believe I took it 3 times in one year too, that’s not good. 

Ugh.

NO MORE MORNING AFTER PILLS.

That is IT.

Hopefully.

Fuckers, motherfuckers.

Why don’t they put it on the warnings? It’s a pretty important side effect…

doo bop doo bop doo doo doo

Greetings, my dear friends and voyeurs! I’m not back, I’m not not back, I’m just… this is just a post. Who’s to say. Indeed, who’s to say. 

So I made my blog hidden a few… some period of time indiscernable to the unemployed mind… hitherto… so to speak.. ago.

I have partaken of a severeal fine wines this fine evening hence the tone of this… something something.

BUT! I haven’t left, I just thoguht I’d try something where I didn’t write my blog, and that way maybe I would write something for my large body of wonderful genius work that I plan to write some day, but what actually happened was I didn’t write anything and just drank for no artistic reason whatsover. 

So here’s the blog again.

I also made it hidden for a.. again, indiscernable amount of time… because the old ball and chain, I mean, that which weighs me down without giving any comfort or accountability, well… he kept asking to read something I have written. And I consider him an intelligent and computer literate fellow, maybe that’s why I like him, maybe he just smells good.

Damn, he smells good.

Like vanilla and sandalwood and natural yoghurt and limes and coconut and jasmine and actually none of those things at all, but just the general core of how GOOD those things smell.

And it’s not perfume, it’s his just out of the shower smell. 

He left his scarf at my place for two weeks and when I gave it back to him I made a real funny joke about how I would never get to sleep without it under my pillow but actually I did sniff it at night sometimes and also in the day sometimes. 

Where was I?

Ah yes, he’s a wonderful smelling

no

no

He’s a clever man, and I wondered if maybe he’d find my blog by googling various things he knows about me

like France, Italy, alcoholism, Irish, whatever… combination of things he knows… to find my blog. I don’t know. Maybe he’s trustworthy, maybe he’s not that curious, maybe my blog is just too hard to find… but it woudl be so awful if he really knew the filthy state of my brain, I had to take precautions. 

Anyway it’s going well between us. I think it is. It’s lovely, it’s loving, it’s sweet, it’s crazy passionate. BUT there’s this cloud of ugh it’s not going to last, he needs more life experience yadayada yada… over it all. 

I have highs and lows.

The highs are mostly the insane sex, the sane but still damn good meals together and movies and stuff and the conversations which are mostly a combination of me sharing way too much and him asking the sort of philosophical questions that only a greenhorn would ask. I can’t recall where greenhorn was used, if it’s a simpsons reference or a simpsons refeence to another show or book or what.

But I think it means a young deer whose horns are still green? 

I’m nt sure.

Oh I may be just over the border between drunk enough to write good and too drunk to. write good.

I’ll see how i feel in a bit.

(of wine=

ps. in real life updates, i still have no job but i m0ved into a super awesome big house with cool, lovely french pepople in a great neighbourhood and said a jew to that fuckbag i used to live with. hooray for everything!

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QqLGAtvnMLU

Walk of shame: French First Edition

The walkof shame.

Jut got in the door. Metro home…urgh urgh urgh. Auto pilot.

Wat the fuck? Woke up all lazy and sensual stretching out against the warm body.

Mmmmm… My ass against his erection. Feeling myself round and curved and ohhh his warm hard dick…. His hands all over me

Mmmm ….

Wait, what the fuck?

Mmmm… his hands all over me.

Mmmm…. feeling utter laziness, waves of hangover and arousal and nothing to do wth who is in the bed beside me.

Wait, it’s not a bed. It’s a fold out sofa.

He’s….he’s this guy I met on a flatshare website and I met him for drinks last night wth a friend and I was sooooo not into him but still.

Mmm his fingers inside me, and I forgot thst the sex I love is with a guy who I kind of love and with a guy whose body I know and whose tastes I know.

Why am I in this sofa bed with this guy?

I ask him,how did I get here? He mumbles somthing.

I stretch out away from him but that feels less good than being against his body and it’s cold so I return to his warmth and we kiss but it’s a bad kiss, morning-y and bad breath (mine) and he smells so strongly of other man. He doesn’t smell bad just… like another man. Clean, but someone else.

I think about Antoine but it’s no use, Antoine isn’t here, Antoine doesn’t really give a crap about me.

Maybe this guy cares about me. Maybe he’s a cool guy, the best guy. I look at him but I’m not attracted to him.He evidently is attractedto me. That knowledge gives me a little kick of horniness and I’m all lazy-sexy against his body and oh what I wouldn’t do to have Antoine here beside me….

I murmer…. I have a boyfriend.

He kisses my neck.

I know.

You told me last night…

Oh really? I feel a little proud of my at least attempting to have a moral compass.

Yeah, he said.

AFTER…

OH! Did we… did we have sex?

Yeah, you don’t remember?

No I’m so sorry, I was really drunk.

You didn’t seem so drunk last night…

Again, slightly proud of myself for at least seeming to hold my shit together while blacking out. But maybe thts just because my personality is so fucked up you can’t tell when I’m drunk or sober. maybe…..

I let him feel me up some more and ask him was it any good? He doesn’t answer which isn’t great but he contnues to touch me and it feels good and after a while and me touching him too, out of politeness more than anything, he slips two fingers inside and then his mouth is on my nipple and I’m not faking anything or being polite, it’s good, it’s good, I want him to make lo…. I want him to fuck me. I want Antoine to fuck me but he isn’t there, this guy is there. I’ll call him Lucas. He’s there, he’s all over me and his dick is hard and solid and there and I think how there’s no way I’m putting that in my mouth and I ask him did we use a condom last night? And he says wow you really don’t remember? And he says it’s ok, yeah of course we did and then I relax again and touch him and it surges, I want to show him how good I am at sex, I’m too lazy to do anything good with my hands and Idon’t know him anyway, I want to show him where I’m great… I feel a little sadness about Antoine bt fuck Antoine he isn’t…givingme everything I want. I know this guy isn’t either….

We have morning sex and he does all the right things, all the things Antoine does with me but it’s not the same, it’s nothing compared to that.

He fucks me and I make the sort of noises I make with Antoine but they echo out of me like polite sounds in conversation to show you’re listening. I’m not listening, I’m not there, I’m looking through the mirror. It looks like what I do with Antoine, it looks the same, I look the same but it’s cold and I don’t care and I guess it feels good but just physically.

Get dressed, find my clothes strewn all over and far apart.

Some girls might wake up in this situation and think, was I spiked?

But not me.

I know I’m verrry capable of getting myself into this position sheerly by refusing to accept that I am not a good drinker.

Last night the bar had a minimum of 8 euro to use a credit card, so I bought myself double whiskeys and knocked them back to impress everyone. I don’t think I impressed anyone.

Walk of shame in the snow… I guess it snowed last night… just a light powdering but enough to make the walk slow, with him, on his way to work and showing me to the metro. It’s 9am, I have pure hangover face and sex hair and I feel like a giant piece of shit walking down the street and talking English, I gave up on French at some point in the night. Maybe he was sexy in French, but not now in bad English.

I remember getting ready to go out, I had his facebook but there were no good pictures, his profile was kind of unclear whether he was hot or not. I got dressed up nice but fairly casual, and I thought maybe this guy is cool and hot and maybe I’ll flirt with him or just make a new friend. I wanted to lash back at Antoine for making me feel so intensely again and then dropping off the map. He hasn’t disappeared- he just doesn’t do love like I do.

We spent a few glorious days together recently, made love all day and all night and it all grew stronger and stronger and when he was in me and his face kissing my neck hungrily and my arms pulling him in, in, in, the closest we could be, it welled up inside me like the tears you want to cry, but can’t, when you finally get home after holding them in all day.

It hurt and it felt like the best thing in the world.

It hurts when I don’t hear from him. He doesn’t write frequently.

It hurts when I hear from him because I want to see him.

It hurts when I see him because I want to touch him.

When I touch him it hurts because I want to be with him together making love and coming together, but I don’t want it to end.

And it hurts when he is inside me because there’s nowhere else to go, that’s the peak… I want him closer, further, rougher, gentler, faster, slower, I want him kissing my mouth and I want his mouth on my breast. I want to eat his cock but I want to kiss him tenderly at the same time and have him make love to me at the same time. I want more, always more. And then it’s over and I’m at peace for like 10 minutes and then the pain starts again.

Maybe this is my body telling me I should be having group sex.

I don’t know.

Anyway we lay together and stroked each others necks, faces, bodies and kissed gently and murmured things and he said I think I love you, and I said I think I love you too… and I didn’t mean it when I said it because I know neither of us loves the other. We’re selfish, we just love the feeling and don’t want it to stop. We don’t give a shit about each other really. He doesn’t care, he doesn’t NEED to speak to me. When we’re apart I miss him and he misses me but he’s defeatist about it. We can’t be together all the time, so let’s just be together when we are and the rest of the time what’s the point in saying I miss you etc… I’m not like that. I want… I need constant reasurance. I want to know that he’s thinking of me too. And he doesn’t tell me.

When we’re together I can’t doubt for a second that it’s amazing and great but every time he leaves I don’t fucking hear a word from him unless it’s practical information about when we will see each other again. It drives me crazy. I want the notebook, I want the vow, I want a Nicholas Sparks movie guy who writes to me even if I don’t write back, who builds me a motherfucking house even when I clearly expressed my disinterest. I want someone putting themselves out there for me again and again and not fucking stopping just because they feel sure of me.

Cunt.

I’m very angry with him for being like this. That’s why I slept with that other guy, it was my typical secret revenge fuck. I always try to put myself out of my current love’s reach when they pull away or betray me or just disillusion me somehow. Like I want to say a silent fuck you, if you don’t treat me really really well then I won’t be loyal, but maybe I could just be a bit harder to get instead of having sex with gross strangers.

Ah he wasn’t really gross, I’m just feeling icky because I don’t want to sleep with anyone else and it was a shit revenge anyway because Antoine doesn’t know and if he did know it wouldn’t do me any favours.

Balls.

I’m so bad at this.

I’m so fucking hopeless, I’m too passionate and intense to be with someone who is so fucking clueless and selfish with himself. He doesn’t know what love is and I sit here waiting for it like a dog waiting for the mother of the house to come home.

I was coming here for adventure and hope and new things and I’m stuck in some shit that I know is bad for me and I just don’t want to pull myself out of it, because it feels good and I’m afraid if I go out into the world alone and demand to be treated wonderfully, I’ll just be alone all the time.

And my French has kind of hit a plateau, too.

I need to get a job.

And stop drinking so much.

And get over the hangover guilt (This happened on Thursday night, I just wrote the beginning before the self loathing became too great so I finished it today)

sometimes you eat the bar!

There’s a low, then there’s a high!

Yipppeeeeee!

Goddammit it’s tiring being a woman.

BUT AWESOME! Fuck yeah! Endorphins, whence, I know not! But endorphins!

Waaaaaaaa!

Actually they are probably endorphins from the fact that I have three appartments to go see, and one of them is just with one guy which may not be ideal BUT he says I can stay for just one month if I want, so it’s kind of a sure thing and I don’t have to stay long if I don’t like it. Which is awesome. Anyway he’s 35 and French and wants to improve his English and I don’t know if he’s good looking yet but that would obviously swing it in his favour.

Already I’m imagining sharing a flat with a really hot older guy who’s all sexy and stuff, and super impressed with my cooking and he has a flat screen tv and a job and he’s probably really ugly, isn’t he?

I’m going to send his address to my friend before I go to meet him, just to help the police in the murder investigation if its necessary. Damn I wish I knew if he was good looking. I know good looking people also do murders but most murderers are not good looking so it’s kind of a safeguard. Unless he’s a REAL psychopath.

But he’s probably just a boring run of the mill pedestrian non-murderer. And probably really unattractive.

Anyway.

We’ll see.

Today I also have another apartment to go see, also might be a murderer or muderers but we live in hope.

Man I really don’t want to get murdered…

Anyway.

I’m all optimistic today. I’m making savoury pancakes with spinach in the batter, yummy!

And I am not going to drink a single drop of wine tonight, although it is tuesday night which is ladies night and it’s buy one wine get one free, but I don’t think I’ll go to that and anyway even if I do, it’s like, that’s social drinking which is fine.

So. I just wanted to let you know fortuna has spun her wheel of crazy upwards today so I am not all sad and mopey today.

Unless I get murdered.

 

Peace, yo.

Ps. I will let you know later if I am not murdered in case you are worried about me. (That’s so sweet, by the way)

Oh, wine… ze sings you do to me!

Drinking… not heavily but consistently.

I haven’t been obliterated by drink in ages, maybe I’m building up a tolerance. But I do seem to find myself popping a lot of corks, mulling a lot of wine, and listening to a lot of Jeff Buckley and moaning YES THIS SONG, YES, THIS IS WHY IT IS ALL WRONG OH GOD IM HIDEOUS, IM HIDEOUS AND FAT, WHO COULD LOVE ME?

And then I listen to something a bit more upbeat and I feel like I could do anything, or even just go to a supermarket and buy salad. But I must stay away from the supermarket because while in Ireland I was limited to how much wine I could take home by price, here I am only limited by arm strength and it’s not that far of a walk home.

I’ve been drinking a lot of wine. I’m not worried about my liver, my liver is something I will worry about when I am aware of it, or when it starts to complain. I’m worried about bloating, about getting that puffy alco- face.

I’m not getting drunk every night so I GUESS I won’t get puffy alco face, but I am drinking a lot, a lot a lot.

I want to drink less but all of the get me out of the apartment and socialising activities are drinks based and let’s be honest I don’t have any normal healthy people hobbies, so I drink.

I do love cooking but frankly fresh food ingredients are more expensive than wine, and also more detrimental to the physical presence too.

I have to find an apartment and a job and I am not having much luck with either, or any luck, and I’m sort of hopelessly in love but also very insecure about it all and my French is not improving as beautifully as i had hoped.

So I drink.

But when I find a job I will have purpose and clarity and the threat of a kick up the arse if I don’t sober up and act like a proper grown up so then I will limit myself to weekends like a normal person.

Oh why can’t they just make non alcoholic wine?

Cause it would suck, that’s why.

Anyway you don’t want to read about how emotional I am being and I don’t want to write it AGAIn and AGAIN  AND AGAIN until we all DIE

so I will cut this short, tell you that I am not doing as wonderfully as my initial wave of optimism implied I would do, and I’m still being nice and outgoing but my motivation-reward-motivation system needs the little reward kicker in between to maintain itself and right now I am feeling all out of reward.

Because of course i can’t just be go with the flow like I said I wanted to be and just enjoy the feeling of a man supposedly loving me and wanting me and being crazy about me like I am about him, because he hurt me so I don’t trust it, like he’s just going to shrug me off one of these days and it will be all my fault for lettng him back in.

So.

Tis a lull.

I did my homework though so that was more than I expected of today.

Fucking flat hunting. It’s not making me a happy little critter, it’s making me a sad sodden drooping thing with a wardrobe full of empty bottles.

Oh, wine.