Weekend

The weekend was, for the most part and for a change, lovely. It could have ended up being entirely different if my Friday mood had spilled over into the rest of it. As the day wore on, I just began to feel lower and lower, more and more upset, insecure and angry. I was meant to go for drinks after work with my colleagues (an open invitation across the department, but I had expressed an intention to go), but couldn't even face the thought of having to see or talk to anyone. I had the beginnings of a migraine just after lunch, that continued to grow throughout the afternoon. I was meant to stay at Samson's that night, but felt so miserable that I wasn't sure it would be a good idea. Near the end of the day, I emailed Samson to ask if he was going for drinks and since his reply indicated he would at least go for a bit, my decision was made. I was going home to get in bed, be miserable and go to sleep.

Samson asked if I was sure I didn't want to come to his, but still seemed determined to go for a drink or two, so I wouldn't relent. My irrational rage convinced me that he clearly wasn't bothered about whether I came to his or not, because he was obviously more intent on going out and didn't suggest not going, if that would persuade me to stay. He asked if he could take my bag for me, or come to see me the next day, but I was feeling mean and objectionable and couldn't see the point of us seeing each other at all that weekend (a slightly unhinged reaction, I know). I left with a vague "I'll text you," which I didn't really mean, seeing as he'd left his phone at home, which was another reason to be unhappy with him. I walked to the tube station, nearly in tears, feeling incredibly upset and angry, but not really having a clear-cut explanation as to why. As I walked, the thought of going to my therapy session and having to talk about anything seemed unbearable. I wasn't even sure that I would be able to meet Lolly for lunch afterwards, like I had arranged. I couldn't stand the thought of having to be around people, of the effort it would require to get out of bed and get to either of these appointments on time. I touched at my phone in my bag, on the brink of texting one or both of them to cancel.

I was hungry, my head hurt and I fell asleep on the train so deeply that I was lucky to wake up in time for my stop. I arrived home, said hello to Big Sis (who looked puzzled because wasn't expecting me, as I had told her I would be at Samson's) and announced, "Change of plan. OK, I'm going to bed. Bye." I went upstairs, ate a little, got in bed, watched a little bit of TV and then went to sleep at precisely 8pm. I woke now and then, the light from the landing stirring me from sleep, then woke again between 10 and 10.30pm when I received a text from Samson saying he was going out for a drink near home with his flatmate. I took that to mean that his reassurance of "I'm only going for a bit" for the office drinks had turned into a whole evening, which he was now continuing to make a night of. How very dare he have fun when I was feeling rubbish! He still wanted to see me the next day, but I remained vague. "That'll teach him to go out!" the irrational, angry, frustrated me was thinking. I slept again, just to avoid being awake and fed up, then got up just after midnight to clean my teeth, wash my face and then randomly get some cereal when I realised my belly was empty. I watched two episodes of CSI to pass some time and then went back to sleep some time after 2am.

My alarm woke me at about 7.30. I dozed a while longer and then finally got up and had a bath sometime after 8. I had woken feeling a little better, better enough at least to force myself to make my session, knowing that I would enjoy seeing Lolly once I was there. I was running slightly later than planned and worried I would be late, or maybe just on time but hot and flustered. But the journey went pretty well, I got there with 5 minutes to spare and enough time to cool down and compose myself. The session was good and I knew I had done the right thing by going, but at times the thought of having to expose how I feel is too uncomfortable. I'm used to keeping emotions locked away and they feel safe there. Let loose in the atmosphere, it feels scary and dangerous and out of my control.

I got the tube to Oxford Circus to meet Lolly, stopping on the way to return a couple of items and buy a few others, having a quick peek in the big branch of HMV near Bond Street station that I noticed with dismay they are closing down on March 5th. When Lolly and I met, we were already being our crazy selves within 2 minutes, making reference to innumerable jokes that probably only we understand. We wandered around Carnaby Street, trying to find this little blues bar that I was thinking of taking our group to on Tuesday for the first time I am responsible for organising a GNOME (Great Night Of Mystery Entertainment). We wandered for some time in the drizzle, before finding it, realising it was closed and that from a peek in the window it looked way too tiny inside anyway.

With that mission a disaster, we comforted ourselves with the fact that all that walking had completely justified the dirty McDonald's we were now going to have. We got on the bus, discussed possible phone upgrades (BlackBerry vs. iPhone, are HTC any good, what other options are available) and then spent a couple of lovely lazy hours nattering over some filet-o-fish meals and chicken nuggets. It was so nice to have our first proper catch-up in months, to giggle like I do with no-one else, to get second opinions on things, to talk dates, hair, make-up, work, technology, family and all sorts of other things that we seem to have similar interests in/perspectives on. After eating, we had a quick wander around a couple more shops in the station before going our separate ways. I hadn't had such an enjoyable day in ages.

Samson had texted me while I was out, asking if he could come to see me, but saying that he didn't feel too well, so it would probably be later in the day. In the end, he didn't come at all and I squashed my slight disappointment or desire to be annoyed by realising that it didn't matter that much. There would be no point him travelling all that way if he didn't feel good and I would be leaving by 12 the latest the next day to meet my uni girls for lunch anyway. My sympathy was only slightly lessened by the fact his sickness was self-inflicted (otherwise known as a hangover). Instead, I got home, had a chat to Big Sis, sorted out my chest of drawers so that there is space for the actual clothes I use and then watched Take Me Out with Big Sis, which has quickly become my Saturday night trash telly fix of choice. I listened to music while I finished the sorting the rest of my clothes and then watched some things online, played a bit of Professor Layton on my DSi and eventually went to bed.

I woke up on Sunday, got my stuff together and arrived on time to meet my girls. We had a yummy lunch, had a chat about what was new (and some of what was old) and then went our separate ways 2 1/2 hours later. I went to Samson's, watched the football (Arsenal v. Birmingham City) which turned out to be a rather big disappointment). We chilled out, had a nice dinner and I felt like I'd had my first proper weekend in ages. More, please.