I will waffle tonight. Its bloody cold so I'm cocooned in blankets, typing with my thumb, Arizona is sitting heavily on my arm... Wait, she must be reading over my shoulder because she gave a reluctant "meuw" and climbed down to my feet.
OK, where are we? 37 weeks sober tomorrow. (OK I feel like I'm in a Disney movie, predictive text preempted the three words following 37)
Am I so cold because I'm dead already? No, the afterlife doesn't have upstairs neighbours with high heel wearing toddlers.
Wow, easily distracted.
So I'm crazy sober and cold. Game of Thrones Season 4 is done and another year stretches out before us... I was disappointed by the season finale. No one else thought so... Was I over tired or expecting too much? The end of episode 8 was so hectic that nothing compares.
Online dating seems pointless... I don't need insecure strangers pointing out that I don't have a gym addiction. No Darling, gym is not one of the many addictions I battle with daily. And I thank my lucky stars, at least my arms lie flush against my body... And are soft to lie on.
And the little boy who asked me over to his house... I doubt dinner was on offer. So I told him I'm not Mr Delivery... Nor am I stupid enough to risk my life... He had to agree that if he was a girl he wouldn't go to strange boys' houses... Then why pray tell expect me to?
What else to tell? I recognised my pattern of getting boyfriends in winter and discarding them in January... Not necessarily the proceeding January, but it seems significant. OK maybe its happened twice. The other pattern of two is my Nov till Feb pattern - it covers my birthday, Christmas, New Years and the ends before Valentine's Day.
Anyone care to psychoanalyse?
Enough drivel, I need to do the horrible winter bathroom dash...
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