Today I am writing again (and have even done the laundry and changed the beds!) in an effort to get over my current state of negativity. I am severely hormonally imbalanced at the moment and although the strange split second headaches I was experiencing have faded I am still without my usual womanly functions. I looked this state of affairs up on the internet but was greeted by 50,000 articles all saying 'maybe you're pregnant' so I stopped looking.
Yeah, if this were biblical times, maybe.
I started crying on the phone to LNB and then soon after every little irritation about life and work here came tumbling out. She is a phenomenal pep talker and I managed to get some sleep after (which has been difficult). Misery in one's new adventurous life is arduous to explain but I was heartwarmed by her affirmation that I am not a complete moron. Still, each day here increases my certainty that the only people who can truly appreciate this place are those who have recently undergone some kind of lobotomy. It's possible there is an actual anti-intellectual movement going on. But then again the existence of any underground scene at all is probably too much to hope for.
Oh look my aim to mellow the negativity got swiftly derailed. I must get it back on track as I am catching up with an old friend tomorrow and I would like to resist giving him the impression that I am a grumpy bitch. I must conjure up some other things to focus on, besides by dissatisfaction and bewilderment. We can can talk about him instead! This doesn't usually work. He is not a fan of that. Usually we just eat dessert and I gaze at him pathetically and think about how much he reminds me of Hugh Jackman.
I would like to thank my secret facebook spy who let me know that I have a hometown companion in the vicinity. This is necessary as facebook stopped being fun for me a very long time ago. Let's just say I am a compulsive clicker and leave it at that.
Perhaps social networking is changing the world and I am missing out on an imperitive advancement of my generation. I don't care. I don't want to know what (any of my) my ex-boyfriend(s) ate for breakfast.