\Te`di*os"i*ty\

GUESS I WON'T BE GETTING MY TONGUE DONE THIS SATURDAY! GUESS I'LL BE AT THE FUCKING OPEN DAY INSTEAD!

Scuse my language. Rarr.

I'm not entirely sure I can cope in this job for much longer. Nobody listens to anything I have to say, and I happen to think they should. Pearls of wisdom in this head going unnoticed, it's criminal! Oh, they're happy for me to give up my saturdays to stand in the student union on university open days, and they're happy for me to be the dogsbody for every other department remotely linked to student welfare (someone needs an exam scribe? sapped will do it. Yes we pay other students £15 an hour, but she's already employed by the uni, so sapped won't mind going unpaid!), but when did anyone actually last look at my job description? I'd quit, but they keep me in shoes.

Well screw them all. I took friday off claiming a family emergency, and goddammit I went shopping instead. And had a haircut. Feeling flush, I opened a storecard, and boy did I felt spiffy when it was approved! (Sorry mum, that'll be arriving on your doorstep in about 5 days time, feel free to go pay it off for me!). Then, I decided to actually go home after all, and get fed and watered for the whole weekend! I didn't feel guilty, it felt goooooood.

Friday night I sat on the computer all night, drinking unchilled white wine from a large goblet. I also did this saturday night, except saturday I chose rose as my tipple of choice. I spent a large proportion of the night crying about her and talking about her (to someone else I rather care about), because I realised how things should've been between us. I thought she should have been more aware of my feelings about things. I thought she should have been more creative. I thought she should have indulged me when I spaced about about how beautiful something was or some scenery, instead of pulling me away from the riverbanks and the cliffs saying she was getting bored. I realised what I should have had, and what I want to have, and, if some things were different, what I could have.

Then as I lay in bed I felt I needed to go back online and take it back. She was creative. She loved graffiti art. She loved photography. She loved to lay on her back and take photos from stupid angles of buildings and trees. I didn't want to take a photo and leave these things, I wanted to sit by them forever. She wanted to take in as many as possible and remember it all with photos she had taken. We may not have seen things the same but that's no reason to disparage how she saw them. And I'm sorry, I take it back. She may not have liked the same music as me but she could get just as passionate about it. She would get lost in her Brasilian CDs and think of her real home and I didn't understand that. She loved the Beatles and samba and rap. I didn't. Conversely, I'm now angry that she started to love the same music I do, and is now developing a relationship with her new bit of stuff based on those interests. We saw things differently, and I didn't understand much of her world just like she didn't understand mine, and I'm so, so sorry, I take that back.

I still think you're a lying coward that needs to grow some balls to go with the strap on you bought your new girlfriend before you even dumped me. I don't take that back.

Monday night's Poof Trip to the Pub has resulted in the following: I present,

Life Affirming Decisions #3

I will stop waiting for her to send my stuff back like she said she would, and get on with doing hers, because I need the room for my shoes.

I will stop drinking a bottle of wine every (other) night.

I will stop worrying about what will (or more to the actual problematic point, what will not) happen with someone I am rather caring about. This is not because I'm terrified of her girlfriend. It is because I need to stop planning and worrying about things I cannot control.

I will be going into town on saturday, and having my tongue repierced. I never wanted to take it out in the first place, and shouldn't have listened to those who thought, and convinced me, it was 'time'. I'll have to tell the office I've had a filling of course, to explain the Jamie Oliver sounds I'll be making. But goddammit they can fuck off.