Tragedy.

It’s 6.30AM on a Sunday morning and I’m sitting at my desk in the same clothes I wore out yesterday. Came back from an exhibition after work completely exhausted (more from the driving than the actual visiting), dragged myself out for dinner with the family, and camped out on my bedroom floor with my phone for hours until I fell asleep. I woke up about half an hour ago to a lot of messages, went “holy shit”, risked my life going downstairs and opening the front door (it makes so much noise it’s unbelievable) and came back up not knowing what to do with my first proper bouquet of flowers. If this came at the right time it would have made a world of differences. It did hurt like a bitch (that I am) to watch the video, but that doesn’t mean feelings lost were coming back. Maybe it just hurt because I felt like a such a horrible bitch. But really all I wanted for myself was to spend more time being happy than being miserable and feeling neglected –  what’s so wrong with that?

 

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