Go to PostSecret and scroll down for my title explanation.
One of those days oh it really was.
I got up late, having got in at 2am after fun and frolics at the Hobbit with my friends. Part of me worries because I only have two really close friends at Uni, Amy and Chris, and I feel I ought to widen my circle more. Cecil, that mean you - :) - but hopefully living otgether next year will give me that chance. The need for widen the circle more was painfully obvious in the sheer rage and I was angry, but more than that I was hurting I felt before going out when the Chris' plural nearly ducked out with coming out with Amy and I. Having been trapped in a room for most of the day all I wanted was to be out. More than that I wanted tobe out with my friends, friends who I care about and who I hope care about me and have a good time and feel normal in my skin for a bit not some half assed historian who has 500 half assed words on an essay that is due in on tuesday.
The getting up late was compounded by a strange sharp stomach ache, which is still bothering me now. I thought right, a Nurofen will help me. I took one. Oh why oh why did I not reach for the paracetamol. I sailed out the door on my way to the station gleefully and said goodbye to Chris who was also supposed to be going home. [Whether he did or not is another matter] There was a bus waiting for me at the bus stop and all seemed ok. But then as we sailed around the corner at Portswood junction, the pain got worse and worse. Bile rose in my mouth, and the crunch came when a woman sat next to me who reeked of cigarette smoke and bad cheap perfume. The smell lead to a mouthful of vomit that I dutifully swallowed down in confusion.
The next bus stop was another matter. I leapt off, probably kicking the poor smelly woman in the process, scared the couple sitting opposite me and stumbled into the carpark of Blockbuster. Their bins were too high. Damn. So I flail my way to the gates of the Morrisona carpark and I can hold it no longer. I was brought to my lowest moment. Ibuprofen on an empty stomach induces vomiting, and there is a mercifully small splatter of my last meal under the gate to prove it. I must use this opportunity to thank the darling of a little old lady who rushed over and offered me a tissue. I have never been so embarrassed in my life, and as always it was my own fault. Read labels Alex, even when in a rush.
I then had to wait 40 mins for another bus, meaning I missed my train. So there I was. Miserable, ill and wafting a bile - esue odour wishing of all things that I was on the train home. When I finally reached the station, the train was only 5 mins away and I managed to get two seats to myself. I sobbed down the phone to Rob and buried my head in the metaphysical landscape that the music on the mp3 player creates.
Things were decidedly better this afternoon, as I crafted the aforementioned 500 words, slept, read and chatted.
Sometimes its nice to have a real talk. I miss talking to people in depth.I miss talking to Chris the most.
And now after watching Eurovision and cheering on the Finns, a one sided tiff with Rob and strange making up, I am in bed, having tried to write some more words and failed. But these words are here and Tomorrow will be better than today.