(no subject)
Stuck my dick in the toaster somewhat over going out last night. Was psyched up at ready to be there at 8 (opening time), deflated a little waiting to get there to meet Ruthi (9.30), but figured the headache and lack of oomph could be managed with a cup of tea; hung around in King's Cross Station with said cup of tea (twice usual size and with two stamps on my card instead of one, delivered by a skinny Russian barista jubilant that I'd cooed over his extremely vivid and well-done if in INCREDIBLY AWFUL taste new tattoo: pro tip - always compliment people's tattoos with enthusiasm and curiosity. Even if you don't get free stuff, the person involved likes you and that may be worth something later), and slowly developed a worse and worse headache and less and less enthusiasm for going to a dingy room to be stared at by strangers, as I was getting enough of that at the station.
Eventually gave up and went home on a train out of the same station, wearing sunglasses at 10.11pm in the total darkness in an attempt to make the train lights stop hurting my head. I thought it might be the contact lenses but the headache persisted after their removal, after more water, after an aspirin, after divesting myself of all compressing undergarments... then I decided it might be hunger and - in combination with being upset and annoyed - abandoned my dietary restrictions on a whim and sent Lindsay down the road for chips and a battered sausage, and a second bar of chocolate additional to the one I'd budgeted for.
Though enjoyed, this didn't help the headache either. Fortunately I'd taken a sleeping pill with the aspirin and being unconscious is a wonderful antidote to neuralgia. It also - because zopiclone causes mild amnesia and derealisation - means that today instead of the predicted guilt and self-hatred regarding failure to both socialise and stick to eating plans - to stick to any plans - the whole of Saturday including the bits in the daytime where I went to the Scrap Store (man I want to go back and get those blackout curtains and some leather for a harness... anyway) and to the pub with Heather, Owain, Doug, and Susanne now feels like weird fragments of someone else's dream and in fact the dream I had after being woken up for the THIRD NIGHT IN A ROW with cripplingly painful muscle cramp in my calf seems more vivid and real than my week was.
Such is zopiclone I guess. (Also failed to find the sandals Holly told me about in our local branch of Primark. I am tempted to ask her to pick me up a pair in my size at the Primark near her work and paypal her the cost but she's not answering my texts so I'm guessing it would be hard to coordinate).
Despite the sleep button I am feeling weird and out of sorts again and inexplicably hopeless and foul-tempered. I don't want to do any of the useful, longer-term things I had planned so I think I will abandon them for now.
Eventually gave up and went home on a train out of the same station, wearing sunglasses at 10.11pm in the total darkness in an attempt to make the train lights stop hurting my head. I thought it might be the contact lenses but the headache persisted after their removal, after more water, after an aspirin, after divesting myself of all compressing undergarments... then I decided it might be hunger and - in combination with being upset and annoyed - abandoned my dietary restrictions on a whim and sent Lindsay down the road for chips and a battered sausage, and a second bar of chocolate additional to the one I'd budgeted for.
Though enjoyed, this didn't help the headache either. Fortunately I'd taken a sleeping pill with the aspirin and being unconscious is a wonderful antidote to neuralgia. It also - because zopiclone causes mild amnesia and derealisation - means that today instead of the predicted guilt and self-hatred regarding failure to both socialise and stick to eating plans - to stick to any plans - the whole of Saturday including the bits in the daytime where I went to the Scrap Store (man I want to go back and get those blackout curtains and some leather for a harness... anyway) and to the pub with Heather, Owain, Doug, and Susanne now feels like weird fragments of someone else's dream and in fact the dream I had after being woken up for the THIRD NIGHT IN A ROW with cripplingly painful muscle cramp in my calf seems more vivid and real than my week was.
Such is zopiclone I guess. (Also failed to find the sandals Holly told me about in our local branch of Primark. I am tempted to ask her to pick me up a pair in my size at the Primark near her work and paypal her the cost but she's not answering my texts so I'm guessing it would be hard to coordinate).
Despite the sleep button I am feeling weird and out of sorts again and inexplicably hopeless and foul-tempered. I don't want to do any of the useful, longer-term things I had planned so I think I will abandon them for now.