volcanic's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- tipsy wipsy So... Safeway's are selling four bottles of alcopops for the princely sum of £2.99, and I'm halfway down my third bottle of mango & apple Reef. This, for the uninformed, is [allegedly] vodka and fruit juice and probably a hearty slug of antifreeze as well, and although I feel quite jolly now, I'll probably wake up for work in the morning looking and feeling like poop. However, right now I fell jolly and fab, so Wehey! Let's Paaaarty! I bought lots of bizarre things today in Safeway's. I think it was a result of having had cabin fever all day, because the weather here has been so windy and rainy and hideous that staying indoors was the only option. Luckily, my dear best friend was here too, crashing out after her night shift, so there was lots of coffee and gossip and Barbra Streisand involved as well. I went to the doctors tonight. If you remember last week, I went to see her and she made me take an appointment to come back and see her again, because she was worried about my mental health. So I went back today, having already spoken to her on the phone last Friday, and although she was reassured that I'm not about to take a pathological nosedive, mental health-wise, she had found out about some medication for me, so I said that I'd use today's appointment to sort that out. So, I'm back on the Pill. That's a bit weird, but there's subtext (that I can't be arsed to share, really) and she's taken my coil out. In fact she leapt out of her chair with barely-concealed glee when I said I wanted it out, and was already fishing around in her drawer for her speculum before I'd finished the sentence. But yes, whoop-di-do, it's out, my fertility is live and unleashed (for a fortnight, anyway) and that feels good. It's funny,.I had that coil fitted just after me and Arthur got together, because I desperately didn't want unplanned pregnancies cocking up the relationship, and look what happened... I said to my dear best friend that it felt like somewhere in my subconscious I'd known for a long time that he hadn't got the strength to cope with the meaty stuff, and I was making damn sure that nothing meaty would ever happen to us. Guess its easy to think that in hindsight. (Especially when one's as tipsy as I am right now). But yes, Arthur is a knob. It's official, and it feels fine, and I'm so glad (as my dear best friend pointed out today- she's very, very wise) that me and Arthur didn't settle down into domestic non-bliss, with babies and DIY and all that gubbins, because it would have been a huge shame if I'd have been stuck there, and then met all the wonderful and handsome and clever men that I'm meeting now... The lady who gives me a lift to work put it beautifully: "Well, I really do think you'd be better off with a professional, Emma..." And no, she doesn't mean Lewis Collins. And yes, she's probably right. Unlike Mr Bukowski, I don't seem to be able to tap into my muse in quite the same way when I'm mildly drunk, so I shall stop now, have my bath (accompanied by the sound of my see-through pink Barbie showerproof radio, another great buy from Safeway's today!) and thank heaven for spellcheckers, which mean that what you see when you read this will be loads more lucid than what I can see as I type. More over the weekend- stay tuned... xxx 9:27 a.m. - 01.02.02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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