Tea...
It's so very British, but a good cup of tea really is the cure for multiple ills.
I'm sat here on my own. So full of food I can barely move! I was starving earlier, so I went to Tesco, which is a bad idea when you're hungry. I ended up buying fresh pasta, fresh pasta sauce, garlic bread, a microwave cottage pie, 8 (!) chocolate muffins, a bar of galaxy, a big bag of Doritos, a cheese and onion dip, some spring onions, cheese and milk. As you can see, I am the vision of health. So, I just ate approx. 3billion Doritos and the cottage pie, and I can't move. I'm such a fat beast!
Dave has gone out. He mumbled something about Rob and Chris and Chris's house, but he wasn't dressed like he was popping around to someone's house, and then he sent James a text asking him to tell me something, and he said he was outside Istanbul Express. Which is a takeaway. Just off Canal Street. Really, why lie? If you tell me you're going out, what am I going to do? Chain you the fuck to the floor?
Which reminds me (beause now I'm on a chain of thought about how annoying everything is), we were out on Saturday (and Friday, and Thursday...), and I was in a slightly weird, slightly ill, but very laid back mood. In fact, that's probably why it was so weird, I'm normally a jaw clenching, twitching weirdo. Anyway, Dave basically said that he was scared to talk to me incase I bit his head off, that I'm a "mad bitch" and various other things of that sort for about 5 minutes. I didn't speak (apart from to ask if I could wee now, since we were in a toilet cubicle and he was stood in front of the toilet), and he was still raising his voice as if I was arguing with him. I hadn't even said anything. I don't even know what to say or think about that. It drains me, because there's no point in arguing with him, he is so ignorant to himself. He said that he is always the one who apologises when we fall out, but I have never had a sincere apology from him. After we've fallen out, he'll never come and say, "Oh, I'm sorry for *insert event here*". He'll just come and act as if everything is normal and he didn't just batter my already fragile opinion of myself. Sometimes he apologises in the general sense, after saying, "sorry I'm sometimes a bastard, I don't realise I'm doing it", when what he actually means is, "I would be genuinely sorry if I actually thought I'd done any of that, but since I can't remember it obviously it was your fault/didn't happen, and I'm only apologising to make you shut the fuck up until the next time". It's not that I apologise either. I have done, in the event when our falling out was mainly my fault and I knew I was picking a fight. But that has happened once out of the what seems like endless list of times he's made me cry. The thing is, when I fall out with someone, I don't go and speak to them as if nothing has happened 3 days later, because if I can't acknowledge what I've done and apologise sincerely for it (if it is my fault/partially my fault), then I have no business talking to them anyway. I just don't understand how you can supposedly love someone as much as he says he does me, and be so ignorant to how much of a dickhead you are towards them sometimes. I'm by no means perfect, but I won't deny anything I've done wrong or expect other people to treat me with more respect than I'm willing to give them, because that's not how friendship is supposed to work.
Oh look, I'm rambling. Shocking. But still, I carry on...
A great example of the way Dave is is this. His room is tidyer than mine, in a less cluttered sense, because I somehow have about 3 times as much crap as the average person. So, if we have food in his bedroom he'll shout at me about getting crumbs on the bed before I've actually done it. In fact, I've never got crumbs on his bed, I'm normally perched on the end trying not to get crumbs on his fucking bed because I know he's a little drama queen. Or if you eat something in a packet in his room, you have to put it in the bin straight away, which is fair enough. I'm careful around other people's things anyway, because I know what a perfectionist I am with certain things of my own (nothing that is in the reach of the teeth of a rabbit mind you). So anyway, he's like this, and he really will snap at you like you're less than something on the bottom of his shoe for crumbs he imagines that you might just get on his bed, or whatever. Yet he was in my room eating an ice lolly, and when he'd unwrapped it he chucked the wrapper onto my desk. Right on top of my books and L Word boxset. So I'm expected to sit there and be shouted at for something I've done only in his crystal ball of a mind, but if I say anything about the fact that my DVDs and a couple of books now have big, sticky, purple goo that won't come off on them, he'll call me a "mad bitch" and that will qualify as me being nasty and starting an argument. It wouldn't bother me all that much, if he didn't think that me and my things are less deserving of the respect that him and his things deserve.
And then I get annoyed and write really incoherent, rambling and pretty-sounding shit about him in my journal. It's a lose-lose situation!
Annnnnyway...
I swear, there is a little man in my lung having a cigarette. I have a chesty cough, but not a productive cough. It is annoying me, because whatever it is that is making it feel like someone is sat on my chest every time I try to inhale can't be coughed up! So now I have no voice and a random abdominal ache from all the coughing I've been doing.
Aside from all the aggravation that Dave brings into my life, he's actually rather fun and encouraging me to have all my hair cut off. Which is something I have always wanted to do. Perhaps not as drastic as he suggested... I love the styles, but I'm not entirely sure they'd translate well to my hair. I do have rather a fat head, but on the up side there are quite a lot of fat-headed, short haired girls around (that's Cruz101 for you) who look fantastic with their amazing spiky, bleached mullets, so maybe it wouldn't be that bad? I think Dave might have secretly made an appointment at Hair Cuttery for me anyway... so I better start finding pictures of hairstyles I want!
My fingers are cold now! I feel uncomfortable and not too good, and I need to clean the rabbits out, which might be a good distraction from all the stress that's going around in my head (and that I can't bring myself to write down). So I shall be off!
Hmmm, listening to music is less fun when you have no voice to sing along with!
I'm sat here on my own. So full of food I can barely move! I was starving earlier, so I went to Tesco, which is a bad idea when you're hungry. I ended up buying fresh pasta, fresh pasta sauce, garlic bread, a microwave cottage pie, 8 (!) chocolate muffins, a bar of galaxy, a big bag of Doritos, a cheese and onion dip, some spring onions, cheese and milk. As you can see, I am the vision of health. So, I just ate approx. 3billion Doritos and the cottage pie, and I can't move. I'm such a fat beast!
Dave has gone out. He mumbled something about Rob and Chris and Chris's house, but he wasn't dressed like he was popping around to someone's house, and then he sent James a text asking him to tell me something, and he said he was outside Istanbul Express. Which is a takeaway. Just off Canal Street. Really, why lie? If you tell me you're going out, what am I going to do? Chain you the fuck to the floor?
Which reminds me (beause now I'm on a chain of thought about how annoying everything is), we were out on Saturday (and Friday, and Thursday...), and I was in a slightly weird, slightly ill, but very laid back mood. In fact, that's probably why it was so weird, I'm normally a jaw clenching, twitching weirdo. Anyway, Dave basically said that he was scared to talk to me incase I bit his head off, that I'm a "mad bitch" and various other things of that sort for about 5 minutes. I didn't speak (apart from to ask if I could wee now, since we were in a toilet cubicle and he was stood in front of the toilet), and he was still raising his voice as if I was arguing with him. I hadn't even said anything. I don't even know what to say or think about that. It drains me, because there's no point in arguing with him, he is so ignorant to himself. He said that he is always the one who apologises when we fall out, but I have never had a sincere apology from him. After we've fallen out, he'll never come and say, "Oh, I'm sorry for *insert event here*". He'll just come and act as if everything is normal and he didn't just batter my already fragile opinion of myself. Sometimes he apologises in the general sense, after saying, "sorry I'm sometimes a bastard, I don't realise I'm doing it", when what he actually means is, "I would be genuinely sorry if I actually thought I'd done any of that, but since I can't remember it obviously it was your fault/didn't happen, and I'm only apologising to make you shut the fuck up until the next time". It's not that I apologise either. I have done, in the event when our falling out was mainly my fault and I knew I was picking a fight. But that has happened once out of the what seems like endless list of times he's made me cry. The thing is, when I fall out with someone, I don't go and speak to them as if nothing has happened 3 days later, because if I can't acknowledge what I've done and apologise sincerely for it (if it is my fault/partially my fault), then I have no business talking to them anyway. I just don't understand how you can supposedly love someone as much as he says he does me, and be so ignorant to how much of a dickhead you are towards them sometimes. I'm by no means perfect, but I won't deny anything I've done wrong or expect other people to treat me with more respect than I'm willing to give them, because that's not how friendship is supposed to work.
Oh look, I'm rambling. Shocking. But still, I carry on...
A great example of the way Dave is is this. His room is tidyer than mine, in a less cluttered sense, because I somehow have about 3 times as much crap as the average person. So, if we have food in his bedroom he'll shout at me about getting crumbs on the bed before I've actually done it. In fact, I've never got crumbs on his bed, I'm normally perched on the end trying not to get crumbs on his fucking bed because I know he's a little drama queen. Or if you eat something in a packet in his room, you have to put it in the bin straight away, which is fair enough. I'm careful around other people's things anyway, because I know what a perfectionist I am with certain things of my own (nothing that is in the reach of the teeth of a rabbit mind you). So anyway, he's like this, and he really will snap at you like you're less than something on the bottom of his shoe for crumbs he imagines that you might just get on his bed, or whatever. Yet he was in my room eating an ice lolly, and when he'd unwrapped it he chucked the wrapper onto my desk. Right on top of my books and L Word boxset. So I'm expected to sit there and be shouted at for something I've done only in his crystal ball of a mind, but if I say anything about the fact that my DVDs and a couple of books now have big, sticky, purple goo that won't come off on them, he'll call me a "mad bitch" and that will qualify as me being nasty and starting an argument. It wouldn't bother me all that much, if he didn't think that me and my things are less deserving of the respect that him and his things deserve.
And then I get annoyed and write really incoherent, rambling and pretty-sounding shit about him in my journal. It's a lose-lose situation!
Annnnnyway...
I swear, there is a little man in my lung having a cigarette. I have a chesty cough, but not a productive cough. It is annoying me, because whatever it is that is making it feel like someone is sat on my chest every time I try to inhale can't be coughed up! So now I have no voice and a random abdominal ache from all the coughing I've been doing.
Aside from all the aggravation that Dave brings into my life, he's actually rather fun and encouraging me to have all my hair cut off. Which is something I have always wanted to do. Perhaps not as drastic as he suggested... I love the styles, but I'm not entirely sure they'd translate well to my hair. I do have rather a fat head, but on the up side there are quite a lot of fat-headed, short haired girls around (that's Cruz101 for you) who look fantastic with their amazing spiky, bleached mullets, so maybe it wouldn't be that bad? I think Dave might have secretly made an appointment at Hair Cuttery for me anyway... so I better start finding pictures of hairstyles I want!
My fingers are cold now! I feel uncomfortable and not too good, and I need to clean the rabbits out, which might be a good distraction from all the stress that's going around in my head (and that I can't bring myself to write down). So I shall be off!
Hmmm, listening to music is less fun when you have no voice to sing along with!