You feel hopeless and homeless, and lost in the haze of wine.
Between next week's jaunt to the Glastonbury festival, July 4 seeing my return to being just another worker after nine months as a manager (seconded position, which means they're well within their rights- but still, what a pisser) and our plans, still hazy, to go travelling in 2011, things have taken on a curiously pointless, time-killing air this week. I'm hoping that this is just a combination of pre-Glasto gloom and anticipation for same + an air of malaise relating to my current employment, but I can feel myself withdrawing into myself to the point where I'd be pretty much happy eating muffins and reading abandonedplaces and listening to the Airborne Toxic Event all day in lieu of going anywhere or doing anything that actually achieves anything, save for the occasional bit of housework.
Luckily Kyly has no such truck with this sort of nonsense and as such I've been out semi-often of late to the houses of friends and the allotment space that Emily H has granted us (an allotment of an allotment?) and to Socialist Party meetings (when I'm able to and am sufficiently inclined) and thus we see one of the infinite reasons why Kyly is important to me- and she doesn't even realise she's doing it.
And though minor, it does make me feel good when I've trimmed the Audrey II-esque hedge outside our front door or evicted squatting grass and weeds from a patch of land where seeds of tomato and herbs are eager to commence their tenancy: because it's practical and visible and it matters more than a colourful spreadsheet or whether or not I've seen any Misawa matches or anything.
Of course if my lingering gloom is more than just frustrated anticipation, then who knows what it is?
Anyway, that's enough navel-gazing bullshit, I have a job to go to.
Luckily Kyly has no such truck with this sort of nonsense and as such I've been out semi-often of late to the houses of friends and the allotment space that Emily H has granted us (an allotment of an allotment?) and to Socialist Party meetings (when I'm able to and am sufficiently inclined) and thus we see one of the infinite reasons why Kyly is important to me- and she doesn't even realise she's doing it.
And though minor, it does make me feel good when I've trimmed the Audrey II-esque hedge outside our front door or evicted squatting grass and weeds from a patch of land where seeds of tomato and herbs are eager to commence their tenancy: because it's practical and visible and it matters more than a colourful spreadsheet or whether or not I've seen any Misawa matches or anything.
Of course if my lingering gloom is more than just frustrated anticipation, then who knows what it is?
Anyway, that's enough navel-gazing bullshit, I have a job to go to.