"MORNING!" in some old-fashioned-matron-burst-into-the-room-and-pull-back-the-curtains-burning-your-eyes-in-sunlight kinda way.
What's left of the two minutes of it anyway.
News to tell. News...to...tell.
Little really.
Work was one big fat tiresome fuck. I'm one big anti-person at the minute, and immersing me in a sea of smelly, ungrateful, moody germy bastards is not my idea of 'a good way to deal with your depression'. These people are all so insignificant. With their rudeness and their stupidity and I hate each one more than the last (with the exception of the odd person that smiles and actually engages you first. They're O.K).
I emailed Ben last night. I spent a good hour of work trying to construct the perfect email in my head, but then when it comes to typing it, it always goes to shit doesn't it? Basically, 'You hurt me. You're a dick for trying that. Don't do it again. I love you'. Hmm... Maybe I could have just condensed it into that? But yeah. No reply as of yet, which means I'VE ANGERED HIM! So easy to do, but this time, he needs to hear my side of the story. No more treading on eggshells (God I hate that term). I love the boy very much, but as a psychologist (eh-hem) if you reward negative behaviour then he will only repeat it. If you give the rat an electric shock instead of the biscuit it thinks it's going to get, then maybe it wont try and kill itself again. Let it remain in radio silence until he texts me... You know, I used to be a fan of games. Twister. Monopoly. Operation. Mousetrap....
Seriously.... Only five minutes have passed since I started typing? What the hell is up with that! Do I type really quickly? Or am I just really excited about going to work? Ha. Blates.
My stomach is crying at me. I better feed it. Lets get today over and done with and then i'll treat myself to a nice big bifta when I get home from work. Can you use that word anymore? Bifta? Okay, doobie. A nice big doobie.
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