Melancholia.
I am feeling rather hungover. Still. Twelve hours later. Grr...Maybe drinking five (or was it six?) pints of beer while missing dinner and staying out till 11 on a weeknight was not the best idea in the world. Still, was a very enjoyable night, meeting up with an old friend and clearing the air, somewhat...
I think I may be developing a rather healthy drinking habit. I drank every night for three weeks last month. That's not normal, is it? Like, really; in reality. Kind of realised that when I ended up with tonsillitis again. I guess a three week bender can do that.
See, I say habit and not problem because it's not a problem - it's not affecting me or my life. I go to work on time and don't have a hangover (well, except for today, but I didn't start till 12 so that doesn't count). So it's not a problem - it's a habit. We all have our vices. At least this one is keeping me sane and making sure I actually sleep and don't wake up throughout the night. Habit. Which is a synonym for hobby anyway. And we should all have hobbies. So there. (Yes. Yes, I know....)
The police are driving me crazy.
Despite the fact that my throat feels like I gargled with Drum tobacco last night, I really want another fag. Desperately. Another habit. Probably shouldn't really. At the moment the only thing stopping me from properly starting smoking again is Paul. Damn him and his protectiveness over my lungs. Can't really stay mad at him though - at this very moment he is led on the sofa chuckling to himself reading his Sickopedia app on his iphone. "I just bought a vibrating cock ring. Now my chickens refuse to fight". He is one third man, one third woman and one third twelve year old boy. And mine.
I'm feeling very reflective at the moment. Just been listening to some old songs, making me feel nostalgic; but nostalgia alway has a tinge of pain to it, doesn't it? Makes you think about who you were when you heard it first, what it made you feel. Makes you smile with watery eyes.
I think I may be developing a rather healthy drinking habit. I drank every night for three weeks last month. That's not normal, is it? Like, really; in reality. Kind of realised that when I ended up with tonsillitis again. I guess a three week bender can do that.
See, I say habit and not problem because it's not a problem - it's not affecting me or my life. I go to work on time and don't have a hangover (well, except for today, but I didn't start till 12 so that doesn't count). So it's not a problem - it's a habit. We all have our vices. At least this one is keeping me sane and making sure I actually sleep and don't wake up throughout the night. Habit. Which is a synonym for hobby anyway. And we should all have hobbies. So there. (Yes. Yes, I know....)
The police are driving me crazy.
Despite the fact that my throat feels like I gargled with Drum tobacco last night, I really want another fag. Desperately. Another habit. Probably shouldn't really. At the moment the only thing stopping me from properly starting smoking again is Paul. Damn him and his protectiveness over my lungs. Can't really stay mad at him though - at this very moment he is led on the sofa chuckling to himself reading his Sickopedia app on his iphone. "I just bought a vibrating cock ring. Now my chickens refuse to fight". He is one third man, one third woman and one third twelve year old boy. And mine.
I'm feeling very reflective at the moment. Just been listening to some old songs, making me feel nostalgic; but nostalgia alway has a tinge of pain to it, doesn't it? Makes you think about who you were when you heard it first, what it made you feel. Makes you smile with watery eyes.