Just Waiting For February
I am very relieved that the world will soon cease this idiotic practice of being in January. Frankly I have had enough of it and am pleased that my strongly-worded letters to the government have been read and taken seriously and someone is going to put a stop the whole silly thing in just a few days time.
So far this year has been very uppy-downy (with emphasis on the latter) (I don't mean like the feathers of adorable baby birds) and I am inclined to blame the month. This January nonsense has been one debacle after another and I for one shan't be sad to see the back of it.
February isn't the most joyous of months either, but at least it has a naughty little extra letter in it, which makes it cheekier than the pronounceitlikeitsspelt boredom of January.
To celebrate the end of January tomorrow I'm going to a comedy sketch show in Soho (I would link but the link button has disappeared - and don't tell me how to fix it because you know I won't) with my friend. My friend has promised me that it will be "really fun" and "good" so I am going to put nice clothes on and go. Maybe not nice clothes, as such, but certainly clothes. I have unfortunately double-booked myself about seventy-eight times this week already so I sense many apologetic text messages having to be written. Which will no doubt be received with a mixture of relief and apathy.
On Thursday I might have a date. By which time it will be February, so my general outlook will have improved considerably. I will also wear clothes for that.
Actually, although I joke about January having sucked, it really has. Today I searched out all my notes from my months in therapy so I could attempt to clear my head of all the anxiety that has slithered in recently. It isn't depression, though. It's justifiable worry about real things that are happening (or not, as the case may be). It's frustration at my living arrangements, my money or lack thereof, my music. There are only two things that make me chill out: exercise and alcohol. I have not yet attempted to combine the two (but that is why I am going on the date, see?).
I wish I had more exciting anecdotes to recount. Maybe about hilarious times and wacky adventures, about shoes and boys and lipgloss, but alas all I seem to be doing at the moment is writing songs, drinking, or exercising, which gets a dull after a while. Sure, some of the songs are about shoes and boys and lipgloss ('Hello, You're A Boy, Please Buy Me Shoes And Lipgloss' is a surefire hit for summer 2007, with the follow up single 'I Know You Bought Them But It Does Not Mean You Get To Wear Them' for an autumnal smash) but I have nothing entertaining to write along those lines.
To buoy myself up I shall put up a little picture of me and the Impish Little Sister, drunk on champagne in the toilets of The Clapham North pub last year. I know if she was here we would be having smashing fun eating cheese and mocking the dog.