... that's lost in the achieved nothing but got spectacularly drunk three times sense. I don't have them so often anymore. Night times are great... drinking wine at pavement tables, bombay mix for dinner, building log fires in the garden at midnight to accommodate the tail end of a street party, endless heated debates... but daytimes are awfully bleak.
I find, as I post-mortem my hangovers, that the bleakness is a cause of the drunkenness as well as an effect. We're all freaked about the bombs. I need to do something different with my days but I don't know what. We need to remortgage and send off housemate S on her travels. I'm still not properly better but I can't really justify not being at work anymore. It's all... so... big.
In an attempt to address / redress some of this, I have spent today in bed reading Vibrator, a novel of fairly spectacular bleakness itself. Kind of neutralising. Then I made a huge pot of tuna pasta bake, quintessential comfort food, and settled down with the paper. The world can wait.
joella
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