A couple of hours ago I felt fantastic. I know who/what I am (it doesn't have a label, as such, at least not one that I feel fully encompasses all the aspects of my delightful strangeness). I'm single and loving it; of course I like to look at fit men, but I can't do anything with them so there's no point pursuing a relationship. I have an upcoming job interview; I may or may not get the job (obv the best outcome would be getting the job), but the important thing is that I got the interview after applying for godknowshowmany jobs - if I can get one interview, I can get another. The weather is finally looking up! Just seeing blue skies and sunshine makes me smile. The new series of Doctor Who started tonight! (RIP Elisabeth Sladen - you were a goddess). I've e-mailed my tattoo artist about my next tat (hopefully got it booked for next wknd). I'm going out for dinner tomorrow (I get way over-excited about food). Going to Newquay next wknd (hence tat).
Life seems pretty damn awesome, right?
So how can one tiny little thing make me feel awful?
Every year at Easter I write an Easter Egg Hunt for my little brothers. Nothing epic, just a series of rhyming clues as to where to find the eggs. This year I've been staring at the notepad for three days with nothing coming. About an hour ago I had to admit to myself that I just couldn't do it this year. I got all hot and flustered, my chest started aching and my throut got all tight as if I had a panic-attack coming on. And now I just feel really shitty and miserable, like I've let my mum (she already bought all the eggs) and my brothers down. I think mum thinks I just couldn't be bothered, but that is so not it. Just thinking about it is getting me all upset.
- Up & Down