Saturday, 15 January 2011

Shit Creek, Seeking Paddle...

There's actually a blog of academic merit set to be published sometime later today but currently I'm burning the midnight oil again...and by 'oil' we mean 'semi-illegal substances'.

Based purely upon that I need to do a little 'head clearance' if I'm going to get anything bordering on a passable sleep, without the requirement of fashioning my multiple duvets into a makeshift womb as a means to stave off paranoia.

I've been mulling over my questionable actions the other night (admittedly whilst listening to music that's really only going to exacerbate the situation) and discussing my dilemma with a few close friends.

The overruling opinions are as follows:

1) The man sounds like an absolute cunt. Leave well alone, young Annie.
2) You just want him because he's ignoring you and we'll happily do that pro bono.
3) 'Fangirling' is not love, it's a restraining order waiting to happen...the Alan Rickman incident taught you that.
4) You're getting worked up over him? *Uncontrollable laughter*.

As much as these contributions from my nearest and dearest have been undeniably insightful, behind the feigned acquiescence, I'm still no closer to ridding myself of an utterly redundant infatuation than I was anything from 48 hours to two months ago.

To knock about a phrase that has seen more use in recent years than a particularly fetching, 12 year old, Taiwanese hooker: "Fuck my life".

Possibly the biggest punt in my metaphorical clunge (dubious Moosen aside): I've put so many respectable young chaps on the back burner in the hope he'd eventually come round that I've subsequently not been laid in a very long time.

[Deftly done there, genius.]

Obviously, making allusions such as those (that no bitter woman worth her salt would have missed) in the paragraph before last, isn't going to help my cause in the slightest but being clandestinely bitchy does seem to have soul healing properties comparable to a Big Mac.

[Being that it's raining, I'm wearing socks and a blanket and I have no money - I'm going to take the free, warm, non-punishable-by-imprisonment option.]

Honestly, on a Saturday night in a place where 'drunk and vulnerable' is basically a citizenship requirement, all I can really ask is why am I sat at my computer and not flat on my back in a gutter?



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