You know those mornings when you get up full of pep, and you’ll think “Oooh, I’ll get stuff done today”, and the world is your smorgasbord and all that? And then when the day progresses, you start feeling more and more shit, until you end up curled in a ball crying that you want your mum?
Unbelievably, this all happened today.
I got up at EIGHT AM this morning, for some unknown reason. Apparently my body (traitor) had managed to convince my mind that it was well-rested and up for a new day.
Don’t get me wrong. I managed to get shit done today. But as the day passed, I started feeling like a rag doll. Period cramps (yes, that), emotional overload, all of that nasty stuff.
And I cried, because I’m moving home in two weeks and leaving my mummah, and I don’t know what to do and I’m panicking.
Also, I am DREADING two more weeks of a virtual onslaught of “So, how was London?”/”You’re leaving home?”/”But whaddabout your mammah?” questions.
The answer to these pressing questions would be: Good, Yes and She’ll be Fine.
I’m trying to come up with a list of reasons why I should actually be very happy to leave home. So far I came up with the following:
- I never have to go to my grumpy hairdresser again.
- As far as I know, there are no pervy septuagenarians living in my building.
- The flat is quiet enough for me to do writing in.
- Hate on it if you must, but Essex does have a more… colorful nightlife than this hole.
I am sure that this list will be expanded on in the weeks to come.
In the meantime, I’m trying to keep myself busy. I’m laying down the bones for The Project, which is going well. And I’m also trying to compose the zombie smut thing I may have mentioned. I’m overhauling it so that it’s much bleaker. Also, for some reason it involves the Dominion on Tottenham Court Road. Choice hang-out of the undead, people! (but only in my twisted brain)
(side note: I did actually like We Will Rock You, and the Dominion is gorgeous. Just to prove that I mean no harm.)
I keep having these depressed moments where I completely panic. You know those moments, right? The ones that hit you up when you never expect it.
Earlier on, I was sitting in the ante-room (oooer, such a fancy word) at my physical therapist’s place, and I just started freaking out. I’ll never be loved and romanced and adored in the way I want. I want passion and giggles and snuggles and snogs. And I’ll never get it!
Of course, I will get it. But that’s totally where my head was a few hours ago.
Side note: naps help.