BAD Mexican Maid!
Mood: hug me
Now Playing: care in the community blokes making screaming noises in some dialect outside
Dammit, angelfire seems to have been up and down more than a tart's knickers this afternoon.
Blogwarning: I have flu, and therefore I am entitled to whinge constantly without recrimination.
I find it a little bizarre that I was more than happy to accept that I was skiving without any real excuse, but had to be forced under pressure to admit I was actually genuinely ill. Perhaps I'm even more arrogant than I thought.
Last night, when I retired to my [shitty little] [spare box] room [crammed with the ex's stinky spare washing] [and no space to stand], I had that awful feeling that you're not asleep, you're dead. You know when your limbs feel heavy enough to pull down through the bed? Mine felt like someone had lassoed them and they were shooting groundwards at high speed.
So, to take my mind off the snivelling and self-pity, I decided to mentally blog myself to sleep, with a spot of whingeing, snivelling self-pity, and thought up things that feel deeply scarey about being single again:
[end maudlin tosh]
I'm not sure if I have anywhere to live;
Never going on holiday again;
Or if you do, then being the person the waiter pities in the restaurant (I know this is a stupid thing, but something jatb said once in an amusing diatribe about Israel made me think of it);
Living with an ex-DH is sending me insane;
Particularly since it's me who has to do all the cooking, shopping and cleaning so far - I've renamed myself: the Mexican Maid;
Actually, that should be: the Bad Mexican Maid - while suffering the worst flu / mild cold ever, I only managed to provide three breakfast options this morning.
Bad, bad, bad, BAD Mexican Maid!
Christ! Perhaps *that* time was the last sex I ever had?!
My mates have already set up two blind dates. Bastards;
Which is hypocritical of me, because I've already chatted up four women;
Actually, the Bad Mexican Maid thing has all the hallmarks of a Future Fetish;
If ex-DH opts for the best case scenario and offers to let me buy her out of the joint mortgage, then I need to come up with something like seventy thousand knicker to stay here;
Which means opening letters from banks ever;
Oh, how DULL;
Never being hugged back to sleep after a nightmare.
For the record these fookin stupid emoticon things at the top of each post are ARSE and NOT TRUE! So there. :o)