Monday, October 08, 2007
Oh dear God.
It's just gone 10.30am. I am quite convinced that I'm still a bit stoned. Okay, a lot stoned. I should not have had that last joint last night. I am usually fine the next day but clearly I have smoked too much over the weekend and it's all backed up in my system. At least, that's how I am imagining it.
I should not be at work.
Possibly until about Wednesday.
On Friday night I went to have a couple of drinks at the pub with some friends. You know, just a couple of happy hour bevvies before making my way back home to make dinner. After all, I was still in work clothes and had no make-up on.
At 2am I stumbled in the door. Angry. And quite pissed, obvs. I was angry because a bloke had struck up a conversation with me and I recall enjoying our discussion about helping disadvantaged people through our work (we had completely unrelated jobs otherwise) and how utterly righteous that was, etc (I was well into the vodka stage of the evening by then, clearly) and then he said he had to go because if he kept talking to me that "it would progress in a direction which he couldn't go". I swear to God there was no flirting or anything of that nature and besides, I HAD NO MAKE-UP ON and so I told him that what he had just said was utter rot. To which he put his hands on either side of my face and kissed me in what was not unlike something from the movies. Out of the blue.
I had no make-up on.
So then I told him that he'd just ruined everything and I got up and left. Walked home, muttering the whole way to myself about why blokes have to be ruiners of pretty much the entire world. Why was it impossible to actually have a conversation with someone that made sense and had some meaning, so far removed from all the other pissed up exchanges I'd had for the rest of the night? Why did he have to ruin that?
It's still making me cross.
I'm still bent.
And I will quite likely remove this post at some stage in the future.
I should not be at work.
Possibly until about Wednesday.
On Friday night I went to have a couple of drinks at the pub with some friends. You know, just a couple of happy hour bevvies before making my way back home to make dinner. After all, I was still in work clothes and had no make-up on.
At 2am I stumbled in the door. Angry. And quite pissed, obvs. I was angry because a bloke had struck up a conversation with me and I recall enjoying our discussion about helping disadvantaged people through our work (we had completely unrelated jobs otherwise) and how utterly righteous that was, etc (I was well into the vodka stage of the evening by then, clearly) and then he said he had to go because if he kept talking to me that "it would progress in a direction which he couldn't go". I swear to God there was no flirting or anything of that nature and besides, I HAD NO MAKE-UP ON and so I told him that what he had just said was utter rot. To which he put his hands on either side of my face and kissed me in what was not unlike something from the movies. Out of the blue.
I had no make-up on.
So then I told him that he'd just ruined everything and I got up and left. Walked home, muttering the whole way to myself about why blokes have to be ruiners of pretty much the entire world. Why was it impossible to actually have a conversation with someone that made sense and had some meaning, so far removed from all the other pissed up exchanges I'd had for the rest of the night? Why did he have to ruin that?
It's still making me cross.
I'm still bent.
And I will quite likely remove this post at some stage in the future.
# posted by Kymmy : 10:49 am
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