Meow.

I went to the customer service training course today and it was actually pretty great. I enjoyed it a lot even though others didn’t seem to, and the day seemed to zip by until probably the last hour, at which point my everything begin to shut down and I began to have trouble paying attention. I also got to enjoy some grade-A head spins today as well, which was great. I think my pills were playing up on me because I hadn’t eaten much all day and it doesn’t help at one point ended up walking like, a million kilometres to a Woolies and back to buy (overpriced) makeup because I felt so exposed and ugly without any and had forgotten my touch up kit. Still, good! I liked it.

My everything is aching now though, and I am definitely feeling the day. We started earlier than normal and finished way later, and throw in that big walk at lunch and how little lunch I actually had and it is basically a recipe for disaster. My hands are sore and my feet are sore and I can hear my heart beating in my ears and if I didn’t have to take my antidepressants around the same time every night I would pop them now and just curl up and go to bed early. I felt so uninspired by the time I left the office that I couldn’t even bear the thought of microwaving when I got home, so I bought pizza instead. Ugh.

Everything is back to normal tomorrow though, which is good, I think. I have the same sort of feeling in me now that I had walking out of Sounds of Spring five years ago; this feeling that the great day I just had – which was so novel and new and exciting to me at the time – is behind me now and will not be repeated and it feels like a tragedy. It was almost like being in another world, it was so far removed from the ebb and flow of my everyday life, and I think that that is what causes these brief periods of mourning for me, the sense that I will never get to go to that place again. I mean, there is the chance that if I did go back I wouldn’t enjoy the experience as much of course, but I do not know though, do I? Thus the nostalgia. Oh well.

I’m gonna push through until nine (anti-depressants o’clock) and then pass out forever. Tomorrow is another day, and so is the day after that! It’s gonna be great. Everything is gonna be great.

Short and to the Pointless

I have to be up early tomorrow for some bullshit work thing, and that is abominable. I have been told by reputable sources (my boss) that I have to be at the office by 7:15, which would be fine, I guess, if I was the sort of person who woke up any earlier than seven, but unfortunately I am not that person, and usually only manage to get my fat arse up and out of bed by seven at the absolute earliest so tomorrow is gonna be a fucking challenge. Wish me luck! I am going to need it.

Writing is hard tonight, like drawing blood from a stone, but I’m trying, dammit I’m trying. I’ve tried to write this second paragraph three times now, touching on different subjects each time, and not one has rung as true as this one is. It’s kind of meta; the only thing which I can reliably write about is about how hard it is to write, but at the moment even this is coming to me hard. For every inch I gain I seem to lose three more. I am in negative inches at this point people. It aint lookin’ good.

Sigh, this whole post is terrible. It’s trash. The cold has seeped into my bones and my nerves and my brain and taken away my ability to express myself with language, and this sad excuse for a missive only proves it. I’m just gonna give up now, and save us all the embarrassment of having to watch this cruel charade carry on any longer. I will see you tomorrow.

Sick Day

It’s really late in the evening, and I’ve already had my anti-depressants and can feel my brain and my everything beginning to come to a slow, grinding halt. I thought about just like, not posting, or maybe even posting a photo of my cat again, but that would be shit so I didn’t, I instead procrastinated until the absolute eleventh hour and now here we are. Whoo. Words. Ya gotta love em. I failed on this post-a-day project months ago and yet here I am, still plugging away. They should give me a medal or something.

I had a decent day until the afternoon when I started feeling really sick, which is basically the entire reason I didn’t write anything earlier. I spent most of the night lying on the couch in my work clothes feeling like the hosts of heaven and the hordes of hell were raging battle in my tummy, and at one point actually rang my mother to get permission to not diet tonight so I could order some comfort food and feel better about myself for five fucking minutes. It was pretty terrible, but I seem to have seen the worst of it for now and am currently wearing both a jumper and pj pants to try and make sure that I do not have to experience and define a new ‘worst of it’ later. That would be terrible.

A little cat is taking up most of the couch I am writing this on, and has been all night, but I feel like it would be mean to move her so I am instead just enduring her presence. The longer she sits there the longer until I can go to bed and the longer my idle game runs in the other tab, so it doesn’t bother me a great deal just like…a little bit. Soon my sleepiness will override her comfort on the hierarchy of needs though and then I am going to just have to fuck her whole night. It will have to be done, and I won’t even feel bad about it. Well, maybe a little. For like, five seconds at least.

Maybe a minute if she’s lucky.

Now I’m Motivated

One of the things I like most about writing is the typing. I mean, don’t get me wrong of course, I love how easily I can communicate my inner-self with words, and I love the expressiveness and beauty just the right combination of vowels and nouns and adjectives can render in a reader’s mind but as far as the actual mechanical aspect of writing is concerned, typing is the part I enjoy most. I was never taught how to touch-type despite the insistent pleas of many of my teachers throughout my school, I taught myself everything I know about this keyboard and when I sit down to write these daily missives in the evenings, the pleasure of feeling my fingers strike fluidly and confidently is one of the things that most easily gets me into a writing groove. Ahhhhh.

I didn’t do much today, because it is Sunday and why should I, but what little I did do was of the utmost quality. I saw my friend Jason (sans baby) and we went over to my grandma’s house to pick up an old freezer I had there that I had decided to gift to him partly as an engagement present but mainly to get the fucking thing out of my grandma’s house. It had been sitting there unused for over a year, ever since I had moved out of my old place in Victoria Point, and I felt so bad about having left it there so long when I saw it last weekend that I decided to make a point to get rid of it finally and give my grandma back the space. He seemed to like it! We picked it up in his work vehicle and now it is his problem, forever, like apparently all the rest of the white goods I have ever owned before moving to this place. Now all I have to get rid of is the old table that is still sitting there and my conscience will be cleared! One day.

After that I went to see my brother’s new place, and it was okay. It’s out in the middle of fucking nowhere as far as I’m concerned, but then I’m probably the middle of fucking nowhere as far as he is concerned so like, whatever man. It’s a nice place, he’s pretty proud of his achievement in securing it and is making a really grown-up effort to decorate it and make it into a little home, and I cannot fault him for that! He’s 20 now so maybe he felt the weight of the world drop on his shoulders overnight or something, but I don’t know. I’d invite him to come out and see my place (after only 18 months of living here) but I have designed this house around entertaining and containing one person – me – and it is not especially great at entertaining any more than that, so it’s always awkward when I have visitors. That and I’m not sure I want him to know where I live. I am a bitch like that.

I had a felafel on the way home from his house and it wasn’t shit but it wasn’t great so I’d give it a 6, and then I came home and watched YouTube all afternoon because that’s just what I seem to end up doing on a Sunday. Tomorrow I go back to work and then I do that the day after that as well and then the day after that I have to attend a mandatory nine hour seminar-course-thing on customer fucking service and I’m about as excited as any girl could be at the prospect. Luckily my company for the duration of the course isn’t too heinous though so I’m thinking it might breeze by if I let it. Fingers crossed.

Brotato Bake

Today I went shopping! I originally only intended to buy kitty litter, but on my way home from the pet shop (after dealing with dickhead green P platers for most of the trip) I decided to go shopping at this really little couture place you’ve probably never head of called ‘K-Mart’. I only went in there for a new bottle of black nail polish because the stuff I already had had turned to glue, but ended up just buying shitloads of stupid crap; most of it awesome but absolutely all of it unnecessary. There exists no universe where I desperately needed to buy the clothes and cosmetics that I did to ensure my continued survival.

Apart from the nail polish I also ended up buying new bottles of the shampoo and conditioner I use, because it was about $5 cheaper than I would normally see it, and some new razors for my face because like, even if nobody else can see the small patches of leftover stubble I still get, I can see them, and that’s just not good enough for me. That’s where the semi-practical shit ends though, because I followed that up almost immediately with a grey baggy jumper that proudly tells the world that I love life, a clothing item that was probably spawned out of that whole ‘normcore’ trend but works for me because A) it’s warm as fuck and B) it goes perfectly with my next purchase.

Black super skinny jeans, in a size 14! Just to be clear, The last jeans I bought were size 16 skinnies and they have since becomes stove pipes that bag around the arse, and the last jeans I bought before those were size 18 skinnies that have since become totally unwearable for their looseness around the hips. Size 14 super skinnies are a totally massive step up and I am unashamed of how proud I am of that. I have worked hard to lose weight dammit, and I will not be denied this moment of glory. They’re also tight enough now that I can wear my knee-high boots over the top of them (previous pairs were too baggy around the ankles), and that is exactly how I am going to wear them tomorrow: with my ugly-ass jumper and my winter boots and looking hot as fuck.

I also bought a cardigan in black, but they didn’t have them in normal sizes, just S M and L, and I wasn’t quite sure what that meant so I took a gamble on L and lost. Apparently in the world of arbitrarily sized women’s fashion I am not an L for the K-Mart NOW brand, but I am for Target’s store brand. Who knew? Not me, that’s for sure, and now I have a cardigan that is an eensy bit too tight to actually button closed around my tits, and that’s a fucking tragedy. Still, this is what I get, you know? I refuse to try on clothing in stores and occasionally I pay dearly for that decision. Sometimes it works out, like the skirt I bought that I dieted like a mad thing to fit and then eventually did, but usually it doesn’t. Fuck it.

For dinner I spent a long time making a potato bake, longer than anyone who gave me recipes in person or over the phone said I should, because I hybridised like, three separate recipes and one of those said to cook covered by alfoil for about an hour before adding cheese and cooking for a further ten minutes and it sounded like the one that was hardest to fuck up. It came out nice! I threw some carrots in there too, and a fuckton of garlic, and some Mexican spices, and I enjoyed it a lot with a bit of (whispers) ranch on the side. I impressed myself! I am thoroughly impressed. I am going to add it to my mental list of recipes to communicate to you once I have cooked it a second time and managed to not fuck it up, so stay tuned for that! I’m sure I’ll cook it again very soon.

© 2014 Molly Speechley