This weekend has been a 7/10.
Weekends last a lot longer now that i am working part time, and whilst this is GREAT, i am painfully aware that this is probably the last time i will ever be able to afford to work part time.
On Friday i waited patiently for Lara to get back from work so we could eat curry and listen to Madonna and talk about how nightmarish our weeks have been and how scared we are of the next few years (or, really all of the years until we die).
We take a taxi to town and the driver tells us we look nice and this makes us happy because he says it with integrity.
We meet Katie and Tom and Hannah and so on and there is dancing, interspersed with about four moments of sadness related to a boy who i won’t talk about because i am trying to forget him.
Today i am trying to pack up my room in Derby to take it to Manchester where i will reside from now on. Packing is awful not only because there are just so many things and you never know where to start and everything ends up in a mess, but also because you inevitably find things like cards and letters from the past that make you feel so fucking sad. Instead of putting them away i am inclined to wallow and read everything thoroughly whilst listening to something suitably morose like Red House Painters.
I think it is cathartic, but also a bit masochistic.
I think i am ready to leave now.