5:02
It's okay, I'm awake. Well, I'm not but I am. Four hours' sleep. Crap.
7:13
Will someone please shoot me now*.
* = in the non-violence / without a gun kind of way.
9:16
I want this crap to stop, I want to rewind and re-have the nice weekend I had. (Minus the noisy housemate incident)
10:17
Fuck you.
10:41
And you too.
11:21
Go fuck yourself.
12:21
Fuck this shit, I'm going to Westfield.
13:02
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.
15:24
17:18
19:05
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.
19:21
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.
20:19
In Sainsbury's with more people who... I can't even justify typing this.
21:10
I am supposed to meet Andrew in Soho for a drink.
Instead I stay at home and cry.
22:13
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.
22:19
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.
22:21
Memo to God from The Robster:
Please make tomorrow better.
Monday, 11 May 2009
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3 comments:
*hug*
Hoping Tuesday is better for you.
It's all very well having a mask over your mouth, but what about the Robster nose?
ahoj
Brian: It has been substantially better. So far! ; )
Scotch: I think the threat is over now. I need to change that!
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