here i am, sitting in a dark room with my loyal berocca (the best cure for hangovers, EVER), finally. the past week has been sort of depressing - i was still crashing from the hyperactivity of the last two months, and badly. and, between sudden outbursts of uncontrollable crying, i've been taking care of m who's caught a nasty virus and has been very unwell (puppy eyes looking at me from my bed were cruelly sort of cute though). now m is feeling better and i'm feeling alive again after a good night out.
shame one of my friends got her bag nicked (oh, how i hate it when that happens - even to other people! i was running around trying to find it for about an hour and getting very stressed out). but then as i was looking for it i found a ten pound note on the ground which paid for a massive cheeseburgers and chips (and another two equally unhealthy meals for two friends) on the way home. shame i can't eat kebabs anymore - even though i can't simply because i know that waking up in the morning, hungover, with my breath stinking of kebab, is NOT fun.
today i need to get active again, and most of all, i need to start doing some work. i think having the whole of last week off is enough, i really need to get started on reading for the super-duper-fivethousand-word-long-core-essay-which-is-going-to-kick-my-ass-AND-actually-counts. it's very interesting (weber and confucianism and singapore, just my kind of thing) but my brain still feels absolutely dead.
anyway, to go onto more christmas-y things, don't you find it sad that as you grow older there's less and less things you want for christmas, and they all start becoming, well... sensible? like jeans, or a new pair of trainers. i wish i could still ask for barbie cars or whatever it was i liked as a kid.
why does reality feel so harsh sometimes?