restoring order
Mood: blue
Now Playing: Coldplay. How depressing.
Woke up at six today, to the sound of an alarm clock further away than it should have been. Realised I was curled in the hallway around a sleeping cat, head all but in the litter tray. No memory, but location alone indicates I must have come in, shut the door, slid down it crying and stayed that way.
So all told, I think I've done relatively well to get up at eleven, cancel appointments, open a week's mail, fix the bog, wash up, tidy up the flat so the Wickedex (for she is no longer a DH, oh no, not even an ex-DH, and transitional though Wickedex may be as a name, it's what four hour crying jags caused by her larceny deserve. Give me some credit, I didn't call her Shylock) could show the moneygrubbinglyingbastardagents the place at three, when I will thankfully be absent, and buying frilly knickers in Selfridges. I'm sure to be told again how selfish and lazy I am, but I couldn't care less. She wants her top price, she can tidy for it.
Last night I went to a "banging" bar to meet fmc and her new beau, Swansea. He coped admirably when I began to call him by the name of a previous boyf of hers, and I think was only feigning tears when fmc also picked up the habit (accidental, surely, he's much nicer than the fat boring blimp he replaced). Several bottles of loonyjuice later, even Swansea was accidentally calling himself Simon. He paid for the privilege of this abuse by coughing up for the whole meal.
That's what I call a good sport.
Updated: Saturday, 15 November 2003 12:29 PM GMT
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