Date Sunday 1 January Time 5.28am
My thoughts and reflections:
Happy new year.
Happy fucking new fucking year. To me.
So, here I am, on the unpleasantly bouncy Ikea recliner in the sitting room of Drunk Stephen’s flat because Drunk Stephen’s flatmate came back early from Scotland due to a family crisis and kicked me out of his bedroom.
I don’t know what the family crisis is – maybe his mother’s discovered his passion for painting weird little figurines.
I do know that he’s made it very clear that I can’t sleep here for another night.
He left all my stuff in the sitting room (apart from a couple of pairs of pants) with a rude note: need you out by tomorrow morning and all underwear removed from my bedroom floor .
Not that I am sleeping. I am trying to ignore the muffled voices and giggles and occasional silences from Drunk Stephen and New Steven (the unbelievably hot guy Drunk Stephen met about six hours ago) who are also still very much not sleeping by the sounds of it, and trying to ignore the gnawing feeling of rising nausea that could be hunger or bitterness or trauma from the Dave-thing (I feel like I’ve still got the smell of pasties and paint thinners in my nostrils).
More on this later, if I can bear to. Or it could be pancreatitis.
And trying not to think about what a totally and utterly shit night this has been.
And so it is that on the first day of the new year I am awake but not having sex, not having fun, and anticipating the day ahead which holds…
more not having sex, definitely not having fun, and a whole lot of hazardous deep cleaning.
And for afters? I have nowhere to stay tonight, I’m back in the office the day after tomorrow to face potential redundancy, my whole family thinks I’m useless, and I made some pretty unwise decisions tonight.
Including texting Monty. Just now. But then I deleted it.
All in all, I wouldn’t say this has been a happy new year whatsofuckingever.
I began to manifest a better life over a week ago and whilst I didn’t expect to see a steep upward trajectory immediately, I certainly didn’t expect a steady deterioration.
I may only have secured a C in maths GCSE but even I can tell the direction of a line and this line is going down. Down. Down. Down.
Honestly, I’m at the point where I may have to reconsider Monty. Maybe I’ll message him again…
How has tonight ended up being so spectacularly awful?
Well. Let me break it down.