Today I spent most of the time feeling very sorry for myself. We came home at two thirty in the morning, and while I kept the drinking to a minimum because of having to wake up at six, I still managed to feel hung over.
Mostly it was the ‘fall asleep at 3 am and get up at 6 am’ that got to me. I was so tired all day. I even nodded off after dinner, in front of the telly. Mark mocks me mercilessly for it. He calls me a bourgeois reactionary, because I plopped my arse down in front of the telly after work. I’m lucky X Factor wasn’t on, or I’d never have lived that down.
Luckily, we don’t have any issues coming out, so at work we’re doing pet projects. The sort of projects there’s never any time for otherwise, but which are dusted off and opened in times like these. The next issue comes out in January.
Still, the weekend was fun and cathartic. For a little bit, I could pretend that I’m still a part of the student body of this town. I even managed to bump into some yearlings. And, amusingly enough, I’ve never looked so stereotypically gay as I did last night when I wore not only skinny jeans but also a cerise top. Yes, yours truly went out in skinnies and pink.
I almost wish I’d had some glitter to sprinkle in my hair. It would have topped off my appearance perfectly. I mean, if one is going to go that way, one must go all the way. Right? Isn’t adulthood all about centred around a desire to relive the pre-20s in one’s life? Best I start early.
Tomorrow will be easier. It will still be quiet and calm. I’ll be able to sit down in my basement room, tinker on the Mac, read whatever I have to read. But minus the dehydration, the aches in the joints and sinews, and the desire to yawn all the time. It will be great.