I've got a cold! Of all the times to get a cold, this isn't it.
I've got two more days left at work and then it's Vintage; 4 days of dancing, drinking, and enjoying the wonders that The Goodwood Estate has to offer in the sunshine. I've been looking forward to this for ages. I'm really starting to believe this whole '40 days' thing is the wrong thing to do. What if my body is finally giving up the ghost? It's actually feeling ill as a sign that I'm just not made to do anything other than reproduce, or at the very least practise the act itself.
The day has been a bit of a non-event. I awoke early, after what was an unexpectedly late night, realised I felt shit, went to work, and now as per usual on a sunny day like this am sat outside the Roebuck having a cold pint of ale trying (and failing) to do the crossword. Clearly I still don't quite trust myself to be at home on my own just yet.
Last night was lovely, the sun was out so a few drinks with with a pal in Borough Market followed by a few more pints in 'The Gladstone' were exactly what was in order. What wasn't an order for the evening was immediately being gunned down with the response "Why?" and "are you mad?" when I mentioned the current plan.... Seriously, my pals are supposed to be helping in this situation, not sewing seeds of doubt into my mind, especially when you look like she does, it's really no help at all.
I'm starting to think my dick's given up hope of ever seeing daylight again. There's been no movement from the old chap today, no signs of life, as far as I'm concerned things are getting easier not harder.... After Tyler's pearls of wisdom I believed the approaching fortnight would be much trickier than this. Maybe, just maybe, I'm premature (no pun intended) in my mindset towards it. You'll remember my first wet dream was on day 9, much earlier than I'd been made to believe this could happen. The first 10 days were disgustingly hard work, I really didn't think I'd make it this far. So seriously, what if I've dicked my way around London so much that I would find the first 10 days an utter nightmare, and then the next 30 fairly simple? I'm clinging on to the vain hope that I'm through the worst of it and am now on easy street for the next 27 days (actually writing 27 days has made me realise how long I'm in this for and sent a pang of terror shuddering through my spine) I'm going to stop reminding myself of how long I have left, and focus on how far I've come.
I am however, genuinely confident I'm going to complete this. I'm seeing things in a completely different light, and have even started backing myself financially. This can (in my eyes) only help... There's the initial feeling of triumph I'm holding out for at the end of these long 40 days, and now the financial gain which means I can hire a high-class whore on Sunday the 5th of September, at the expense of The Roebuck's bar staff. This is, by the way, not what I'm aiming for. I got into this mess due to women and am not looking to get myself back into a sex life with some scrubber found on the corner of a street. I've never paid for sex before, and I'm not going to start now, in 27 days, or 27 years for that matter.
This is pretty much it.... These 'memoirs' as I'm referring to them as, started off amusingly enough, and have ended up the rather boring scrawlings of a desperate man that despite having so much faith in himself, and a new born confidence still doesn't want to go home to an empty house, and will do anything to prevent it (I apologise profusely)
The genuine pain of someone else is something people enjoy reading about, something people can laugh at - one less fortunate than themselves has long been a subject of humour (even if we don't like to admit it) This has rapidly turned into a chore to write, and more than likely a chore to read. I'm not going to stop though. Although I'm not going to condemn you for giving up now, I'm hoping it's going to stay equally as boring for the next 3 weeks and 6 days... I really do long to be able to say "2 weeks" or even "3 weeks" I can only imagine you rubbing your hands together holding out for the day that things take a drastic turn for the worse, when I can write about the hell I've been through, rather than coasting through days, essentially doing everything I would normally do, barring one or two things.
This is me, all done for the day. Nothing to do for the night but lie down, put my feet up, and try and get some sleep.
So far, so good. I still haven't met the one person that could really fuck this up though. More on that when/if it happens. I bet you can't wait.
