Saturday was difficult... I woke up around 8am, but because I was hungover I knew I needed more rest. I watched Frasier on Channel 4, then drifted back off to sleep, awaking again around 10.40am. I tried to motivate myself to do things but it felt too hard – I did go forage for coffee though. I watched crap until around 12.30pm when I finally motivated myself to clean the flat.
Part of me is really impressed that I managed to declutter and clean. I even hoovered with my new hoover and marvelled - in one vacuum - how much dust was picked up from the carpet. For once in a very long time the flat feels 'clean', possibly because I know there is nothing to hide anywhere.
With all of the existential crises and pointlessness and absurdity it always goes back full circle. What would make you happy in your life right now? Which is basically, all that matters. Then I go back to making videos and photos and creative outlet and being famous and SOMETHING. And then I think of limited time and how i can achieve it and... Mind melt. Not good, especially because overwhelm is more likely to make me feel crippled than anything else.
My hangover kept me pottering around the house. I tried to nap several times, watched another 3 hour documentary on Andy Warhol and then I copied and pasted and meshed a lot of my PhD chapters together from a chapter I have to submit on theatricality and photography. Feeling shitty about it, I went to Sainsbury's, bought some mince and tomatoes and made a delicious spag bol. I started watching a series on Netflix called 'Losers', which was about people in the sports world who could perceived to be losers and what they did in the face of failure.
I then took a bath with Blue Fluffy Clouds Lush bubble bar while I watched the Losers on Canadian curling and decided to have an early night. My over-riding thought? punishing myself for no creative work...
On Sunday I started to feel the crippling nag of anxiety as soon as I got up: the one where it feels like you have rocks in your stomach and you don't want to get out of bed. So I had to take it slowly again, bought an Americano and an almond croissant, ate it slowly, watched more of 'Losers'...
Thinking an age had passed, it was probably only 9.30 when I did some more work and I focused on finsihing the book chapter. It didn't take me as long as I thought and I 'botched' something together. It is bad in some ways, as it is loosely held together with examples but being that it is already late I thought it was better to send something than have nothing at all. I will await their comments and revise accordingly over the summer.
Finishing at 11.30am, I left the house to go meet my friend Rachel and he boyfriend Phil in Brighton. On the journey over I spoke to my work colleague Julia Dane on the phone, which made me nervous about returning to work, and so on the train down I started getting anxious. However, I put on some relaxing music and daydreamed the rest of the way to the seaside.
I met Rachel and Phil in Pizza Express and had a sloppy giuseppe with a large glass of Soave. Although Rachel had called me to tell me they had argued in the morning, she decided she was fine and we started to have fun. We walked around, bout Phil's sister a birthday present (pot plant) and I bought some bath things from Lush.
We went to a cocktail bar called the Plotting Parlour, and I had a green matcha margarita that was very rich and complex. I told Phil about my colleagues at work and he said he thought their behaviour was outrageous. It is... I'm in a catch 22 – do I stick it out and rise in the ranks or just decide it's not worth it and look elsewhere for a job?
We moved onto a fairly ordinary pub where I drank Guinness (it is St Paddy's Day after all) and chatted to Phil's ex-girlfriend from years ago. We also met up with phil's sisters to go to a comedy night at the Komedia.
The night itself reminded me of Butlin's or somewhere similar, where we had reserved seating and plates like 'Nachos' on offer. We were sat right at the front and I was scared we would get picked on. The highlight of the night was, however, when a young comedian described himself as being mature at 24 years old and I burst out laughing, then the audience laughed. This threw him off his stride and he actually skipped the punchline. I shied away embarrassingly when he asked me if I had something to say, saying 'No, no, no, no...'
On the whole, they were not bellyachingly funny, but it was good to get out of the house and permit myself to let go and enjoy. We bought some gins in a tin from Tesco to drink on the train home. Phil fell asleep and Rachel and I got drunk! The train home seemed to speed by, and we arrived back in London around 11.20pm.
I just managed to get a DLR to Canning Town when Rachel called me crying – another fight with phil. I am worried about her – she can't live like this. She made the decision to sleep overnight on the sofa despite me telling her to come over, then I had to call an Uber because there were no more trains to Woolwich. I dragged my duvet and pillows to the sofa to fall asleep, hoping that 7 hours would be enough to sustain me.
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