Saturday, 22 February 2014
I'm hopeless beyond doubt, stroppy beyond reason and lost without hope. It's Saturday, closing in to 6pm and I'm in bed, hanging, and totally exhausted. The very famous "few drinks" last night went out of control, and my ill advised, and yet, note: ignored, taking of antibiotics with copious amounts of alcohol turned out as well as it possible could have. Messy nights are my life lately, oops. I'm lost behind my uni work and I'm just so uninterested in what I should be inspired by. I feel a bit out of touch, with eveything. I've recently just had a catch up with some good friends and discussed booking a holiday, and yet, I don't know why, but my heart isn't in it. Don't get me wrong, I love them, and holidays are one of my favourite things ever, but at the minute, excitement about sunny times seems so far over the horizon. Winter is thoroughly depressing me. I want to hide under my winter-weight quilt and wait for it all to blow over. Uninspired, uncoordinated, unorganised, unhealthy, under-the-influence. Blah. I don't care. It's Saturday night and I'd rather spend it in bed gorging on greasy food than leave the warm and drown myself in more alcohol, but who are we kidding, we all know I will. Exhaustion has set in and it's not great, admittedly. I'm unhappily yet happily mulling everything over. I want to change but I'm not sure what it is that I want to change, if that's even English speaking. As you can tell, I'm still on a drug-and-alcohol-and-caffeine comedown and it's horrific. I can hear Patricia Hodge's voice echoing "SUCH FUN!" repeatedly as I clumsily get ready and get paraded off to the pub rather than turn boring at a mere twenty and stay in on a Saturday night. Now that, my friends, would be sacrilege.