Friday, 29 August 2014


Gripping with my hands, for something more or less helpful. The pain keeps moving. A dull, achey, intolerable kind of pain. It's friday. It's raining. And at risk of sounding melodramatic, EVERYTHING HURTS. From my tongue, to my toes, my  kneecaps to my eye lashes, I'm an aching, stumbling, wreck of a person. A former shell of myself. Today marks six days since I got back from Menorca to rainy, cold Newcastle. Since then, if I haven't been sleeping or eating, drinking or moaning, I've spent every minute with my boyfriend, Lukas. Who, I may add, I missed unbelievably when I was away. 

However, today is supposed to be good. It's Friday. Excitement fills the air and fuels the parties. And then there's me. I am currently showered and dressed and have crawled back into bed as a way of channeling pain. This is definitely a holiday comedown. No more sun. A severe lack of Vitamin D, or actually light whatsoever. I'm burried under a tartan blanket and hoping, -no, praying, someone brings me coffee and a sausage sandwich to my bed. I don't know what a Friday feeling is meant to feel like, but aching bones and heavy eyelids aren't exactly a great sign. I'm craving autumn. Let me bury under wooly knitted jumpers and wear boots and my parka again. Cosy. 

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