It could't get any worse. Day 15 was a shocker from start to finish. I think I put that point across yesterday. Believe it or not, it actually did get worse!
I'm not blaming anyone but myself for this situation, when I set about that task I did so under my own will and it was completely my own choice. It was though, as I've mentioned, due to a particular woman. It was my fault that ended, and as such my fault this began. Yesterday however, was not my fault. It was a continuous stream of shite, that ended up with myself and the aforementioned lady parting ways for good.
I think in my mind there was a reconciliation on the cards, I'm confident there was, things just seemed to fizzle out, rather than rudely and abruptly end.
I'll live though, and there's no chance I'm giving this up. Day 15 was merely a blip, a day when things weren't going so well, these happen in every walk of life. I'm brushing it off, I'll remember it in the same frame of mind as the day I got my finger stuck in a roll of wallpaper at Laura Ashley.... One to forget, but not one to hate.
This morning was a huge test. It's Thursday and as such everyone was at work apart from me, I had a nice extended period of sleep, followed by a nice extended period of time in bed. It's the first day since this has started that I've not had to get up and do something, it wasn't easy to get out of bed.
Luckily for me, some chap from our local neighbourhood thing came round to check the external paintwork... A knock on the door! Bingo! I don't think he was particularly impressed to be welcomed by a 27 year old man in dressing gown, Y-fronts, and sporting an erection worth 16 days (I've got to the point when I don't actually realise it's there, I need to ask friends to be on dick-watch, like girls ask their friends to be on tit-watch when they're wearing a particularly low cut dress) but that's tough, and I'm confident it vanished pretty quickly.
I meandered through the rest of the day without a care in the world. The lass in the phone shop uncomfortably caught me looking at parts of her she should have had fucking covered up while she's at work. Other than that, it was alright.
I'm a bit lost for words, it's the first time since I started writing this to myself that "you, the reader" actually exist. I was bullied into putting this into a blog (I say bullied, I mean told) and then thought that maybe (given day 15) people reading this might add emphasis to me actually doing it. It might make it easier. It doesn't.
When you know you're writing to yourself you can essentially express yourself in as many words as you want, using whatever language you want - I'm confident Anne Frank's diary would have been a far less crude affair if she ever thought it would be read by someone else.
So we started the journey to Chichester, in the realms of extreme excitement of what Vintage is going to bring and the wheels then came off. There was a point on the train when the 3 of us glanced at each other with that look of "Is anyone else starting to feel a bit pissed.... Tonight's going to be one of those nights isn't it."
PEOPLE OF CHICHESTER: a Thursday night is not the night to be buying me jagerbombs! It's the night before we spend 3 days at a festival not the last night on earth... We could have done without it, and definitely could have done without playing pool and drinking more through to 5am this morning! The taxi for Vintage is going to be here in 5 minutes, I'm definitely still pissed and one cider this morning might just tip me over the edge.
I've got loads to write about and no time to write it. We're out of here. I'll try and entwine last nights mess with tonight's mess and tomorrow's at some point after naked dancing to Kid Creole and the Coconuts tonight.
Pray for me.
