It's okay, I'm awake. Well, I'm not but I am. Four hours' sleep. Crap.
Will someone please shoot me now*.
* = in the non-violence / without a gun kind of way.
I want this crap to stop, I want to rewind and re-have the nice weekend I had. (Minus the noisy housemate incident)
And you too.
Go fuck yourself.
Fuck this shit, I'm going to Westfield.
Babies crying, people walking slowly and wandering from left to right. Groups of school kids walking six abreast and holding hands.
This cannot last. I have to leave.
Gym. It gets worse for three reasons:
1/ Idiot straight fuck-wits who have no sense of personal space.
2/ Idiot straight fuck-wits who have no sense of personal space.
3/ Idiot straight fuck-wits who have no sense of personal space.
Fuck off and stand somewhere else. I was here first.
A brief glimmer of hope and a ray of light.
Chris appears and calls me The Robster. He asks how my weekend was. I tell him.
We says he is free for five minutes and we do some abdominal exercises.
He is a former Men's Health model and he calls me The Robster. This is the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me.
In Sainsbury's with more people who... I can't even justify typing this.
I am supposed to meet Andrew in Soho for a drink.
Instead I stay at home and cry.
Nothing. Nothing at all could have prepared me for the day that was going to unfold.
If today were expressed as a number on the scale from one to 100, with a hundred being a perfect day, this Monday would probably rate -9.e+64
If you managed to round up every single embittered old gay and packed them into Wembley Stadium, you still wouldn't get an idea of just how negative today has been.
I do get a bit sorry for Monday because I think it has a tough time but when it vomits days like yesterday, I have no sympathy.
Typing any more of this is just going to make the situation worse.
Do you mind if we forget about today and I go to bed? I would ask you to join me but bad interactions would probably push me over the edge, into an abyss of despair and hopelessness.
Sometimes you just. can't. do. It.
Memo to God from The Robster:
Please make tomorrow better.