Blah.

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. 

It's (ALMOST) Friday!

Cue the smiles and sighs of relief right around the country, yes, it's that time again. Almost the weekend. The time off work, school, uni, college or whatever. The time to relax, spend time with loved ones, or just chill. Whatever you end up doing, there's probably nothing better than that weekly countdown to The Weekend. For me, my weekend starts on a Friday. Yeah, I'm one of those annoying people who actually realises that the friday feeling is a very true life-like concept. Well, in my life anyhow. Friday signals the end of work, the start of relaxation, but also, so much more. 

Fridays to me are like the icing on a very, already gorgeous cake. The time for you just to kick back, relax and do whatever makes you happy. My fridays are spent in a mixture of different ways, depending on how I'm feeling. A silly, slightly-in-vain attempt to take in anything during my 1-hour lecture, before that Schools-Out kinda feeling truly takes hold. Pens down people, it's home time. You wish your friends/colleagues/acquaintances a good weekend, and then part ways, released into the weekend, wearing your best smile, or your best dress. After such a time, I'm usually found shopping frantically for a last-minute night out outfit, either for Friday or Saturday (or both, I tend to splurge) or spending my evening in front of the telly, pigging out, maybe a Chinese or a Pizza, some kind of lovely comfort food to end my oh-so-hard week of being a layabout student. 

So, what's in store for this week then? Well, I'm not sure. I write that excitedly, as having no plans on a Friday can be one of two things. Really, devastatingly boring, or, in this case, really really exciting. The world, or in this case, the weekend, is my oyster. It can be whatever I want it to be. While I'm sort of considered a bit of a party animal, sometimes there are days when I just want to stay in, put my feet up, and eat until my heart's content. However, right now, I'm in the mood for some excitement.

Tomorrow may have to be a Going Out sort of Friday. Out of habit, I never usually go out on a Friday night at home. Saturdays are the tradition, the night when the pubs are heaving and everyone is really ready to let their hair down, but the word on the street is this, Friday may be becoming the new Saturday where I live. This is strange, as I usually go out, get drunk(ish) and spend what should be my glorious, day-of-rest, Sunday, painfully hungover and craving my bed. Friday would therefore mean something different. It's like I have an extra day off. Maybe I'm making no sense, but this isn't really intended to be an eloquent piece of writing, instead, a little rambling about how happy I am that the weekend is approaching, and fast. Whatever I end up doing tomorrow (who am I kidding, I'll end up at the pub) I'm sure it'll be wonderful. Minus the inevitable sambuca-related hangover, but yes. Happy days, let's be havin' you.