There is something about a Friday night, isn't there. Even if you've been out until dawn every night of the week, and have schemed and planned and lied to carve out a Friday night at home for yourself...there will still be a fleeting thought that if you were really a great person you wouldn't be home alone on a Friday night...??
So if you are an prime example of pond-scum/sea-mud/whale-shit, and are really hating yourself every second of every day...etc. Then Friday night is just about the most hateful time of all.
Wipeout, big time. P-doc has been really pleased because I decided to stick to my family's customary no-alcohol-in-January resolution. Normally done to recover from the christmas excesses, in my case I'm basically doing it because p-doc says he'd rather I didn't drink, that it doesn't help anything, and because I know that over the past year I have been drowning my sorrows way too much.
I'm sorry J - my abstinence since the 2nd of Jan has just ended spectacularly. Badly.
Saw t-doc today...my only achievement for the whole day, other than feeding birds almost often enough. Not a good one, I just about didn't talk, cried lots, what little I said was stupid and inane. Came home. Got so restless that I eventually cut. Both parts of left arm, the normal geometric pattern on bicep. And the three 20cm parallel stripes on the forearm - the really humiliating have-to-explain-a-lot-can't-hide-at-all ones. What p-doc calls the team Adidas tattoo. And then I went and bought a bottle of vodka. Have cased about half of it. Didn't help. Can't help.
Oh yeah - almost forgot this morning's fun time. As a good 'ol pink-skinned blondish type growing up in Africa in the '60s, we were always outside playing and swimming and doing stuff. And 30 years on we are reaping the rewards for our enjoyment. Had a basal cell carcinoma cut away from my nose about 5 years ago. Part of the total apathy for the last 6 months has been ignoring the fact that it was back, but eventually I made myself call for an appt with the surgeon. So now I have an impending cut-away of about 1.6 cm square, with an insert of some kind of stuff and a graft from the back of my ear to cover it. What fun. If it wasn't on my face I'd just leave it. Ah hell - so apart from fat and fucked up and a total loser whackhead idiot I get to die ugly too.
Hey, at least my postmortem plans have never included an open-coffin funeral.
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