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My womb fucking hates me. That year when I didn't have a period was amazing, in retrospect. I thought I'd pickled it up good & proper in my hazy youth, but now it's back with a vengeance.
This weekend I've been home alone. I don't know how Macaulay Culkin found so much to do, & made it look so dangerous & exciting. I've literally been sat around, wondering if 7pm is too early to go to bed for the night, lying on the floor & imagining what it would be like if we all lived on the ceiling (upturned lampshades would make artsy coffee tables, I've decided). I've been making mental bargains with my brain, "If you read a book until 3pm, I'll let you watch that Shipwrecked you've taped...then you're on your own again". I would like everyone to come back home & entertain me, please. So fucking bored.
I got so bored & lonely at one point that I turned on the radio. There was a film review on which was so unbelievably sexist & chauvinistic that it prompted me to e-mail them. It is only a local station, & some may deem this as the first sign that I'm doomed for a life of angry spinsterhood, but it quelled the hormonal rage I'm feeling for a few minutes.
( Suck My Left One )
Even if it was full of lies, I think I made my point.
I am going to see the Wolverine film next weekend. Jenni et al are coming down to visit for the weekend. I miss her.
Start my new job on Tuesday. Crapping myself. I do like the fact that my new boss puts kisses at the end of her e-mails, though. That's the kind of frivolous disregard for acceptable business behaviour that I can get on board with!
I need a hot water bottle, a punching bag, or a bit of a cry. The weather is beautiful today actually, so I'm going to sit outside with my book & drink lemonade to cheer myself up. Little daisies have sprung up in my garden. Even if this is due to bird poo, I like them!
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