My holiday didn’t end in a bang, as I expected, but with a whimper.
I went to work today and I smiled at customers and I wanted to smack them in their faces, and I didn’t clean and I picked out things I liked in the catalogues for the season… and the whole world around me just acted like this was normal, normal behaviour.
I felt like more emphasis should have been put on my personal tragedy, the return to misery and loneliness.
Doesn’t anyone want to interview me? Or make a documentary about it?
People in work don’t seem to get the hugeness of my first day back.
I wonder why I’m so intent on other people acting like what happens in my life is in any way important, when I can barely raise a “oh wow that’s too bad” when they tell me about their difficulty finding shoes for such a difficult shape of foot.
Is it some remnant of my childhood, of everyone’s childhood, when you go back to school and the countdown is begun a few weeks into your holidays… back to school back to school new year, new class, new teachers, new books…. Everyone asks you all the time, how do you feel about going into next year? How do you feel? Are you excited? Are you nervous? School starting soon… wow!
And I kind of expect that now.
I just want attention and for people to be impressed by the super hardships I have to endure, and be even more impressed by the fact that I even got up this morning because man that was difficult.
You know what else is difficult?
Not opening the lovely wine in my kitchen.
I feel my little evil wheedler piping up.
It was your first day back, it’s a common way to unwind. You could have a glass and put the cork back in for another day.
But it’s prosecco, it’ll lose its fizz.
Ah but you can have a glass tomorrow and another the next day.
Yeah but then I’m having wine every night, so fuck off, you lose, man my inner bad influence can be shit at arguing sometimes.
Ok but what about, it’s tasty and you don’t have anything else to drink?
But I like drinking water.
Yeah but your lovely big water tankard broke, remember? What are you going to have a small glass of water? Boo. Plus, you had like 2 litres today, I know, I saw you.
Oh wait, that’s weird.
I have only peed once today.
That’s fucking weird, I drank LOADS of water.
What’s going on?
Where did all the water go? There should definitely be more pee.
I’m not going to drink the wine.
I’m not, I’m going to drink just a small bit of water in a small glass and then if I’m still thirsty… I’ll have a tea.
Yes. That’s the one.
Damn there’s nothing lonelier than wanting booze and not having the excuse of company. Anyway… I’m back in talk to self mode. One day down, only another 120 or so left before I maybe can move country. Oh man I’m so broke. Also, I bought a pair of shoes today.
I HATE MYSELF.
Nah, not really. If I wasn’t me, I’d probably be really impressed.
That’s the trouble though.
I don’t just have an ego or low self esteem, I have a MASSIVE ego and CRIPPLING low self esteem.
They just attack me at random. I’m either wildly overconfident and think everyone wants to fuck me and anyone who doesn’t, it’s probably because I look like their sister or something. Yeah that’s it. And then in a few minutes I could be like, holy fuck, I’m as deluded as Sarah Jessica Parker. Maybe I look like a foot? Maybe I’m just really really ugly and it’s just like back when I was 15 and that night I went to a party and kissed the three hottest guys there and I was all proud and thought I was shit hot with my unibrow and my slutty boots and then the next day I found out it was a bet they made to see who could make out with me quickest, cause I was so easy.
Ok I’m going to have some pasta and ponder on some stuff.
I’m sorry to be so introspective all the time. Or maybe that’s ok. I don’t fucking know. I don’t know, oh maaaan if I was a fairy godmother and got to give a little princess three gifts, it would be like
“that she is ACTUALLY the best looking woman in the world, ever”
“that she is invincible and strong so none of the other women or jealous rejected men can kill her”
“that she is completely free from paranoia”
That, my friends, is fucking superwoman, right there.
Oh actually no, a better third gift would be: that she can read minds. Then she wouldn’t have to be paranoid, she’d just know what people thought. Or actually no, that would suck. I don’t REALLY want to know what people think of me. I know I think a lot of mean shit about people I love, so I really wouldn’t want to know theirs…. Well I don’t really need to debate this with myself because, uhm, it’s not going to happen. I’m never going to actually be in a position of fairy godmother to a baby princess, and even if I was a fairy godmother and even if my mates were a king and queen, there is no fucking WAY any of my friends would let me near their kid, let alone decide its three traits at birth.
But I’m pretty confident with the three gifts apart from a few kinks in the last one. I may actually ponder this some more, because I have made a deal with myself where I’m only allowed think about frivolous things until the 7th of October when my hearing is, and then I can start thinking about my real problems again. So yeah, no boo hoos or poor mes or anything until then, because I honestly haven’t a clue how poor or sorry I really am until that magical date.
So, bring on the fluff.
I honestly think that like 99% of all women are miffed that they aren’t actually the best looking woman in the world.
I honestly do. And then there is 1% of people who so rarely come into contact with people better looking than them, that they can be all well adjusted and cool about looks and do things like really mean it when they congratulate a friend for losing weight.
Ok right, I’m bored.
You probably are too.