Monday, 10 March 2014

Being out-out, and then being very much in-in...

Hey all,

Happy Monday, we begin another week. I appreciate that many of you guys aren't exactly excited at the prospect of Mondays and the work it then begins. I, however, have been finding myself at such a loose end this weekend that, come Saturday afternoon, I found myself longing for the week to begin again.

I went out on Friday night with One-And-Only-Daniela. We were meant to be salsa classing it again but Working-On-A-Nickname-Tshepiso had to cancel last minute so One-And-Only-Daniela and I resorted to having just a couple of drinks in our new favourite place in London; Camden. This was eventful enough in itself, as the first pub we went in was playing music so loud, we became old women and left after our first drink as we just couldn't hear ourself think, and made our way to a second pub which somehow managed to result in us receiving a free bottle of wine on the promise that the barman could come over and talk to us after his shift finished. This didn't exactly happen, although we didn't realise that we were going to bail out on him at the point of accepting the bottle. We're not heartless. It's more that we are easily distracted by new shiny things and, after drinking the majority of the bottle between the two of us, realised that friends of ours from Essex were in London nearby so disappeared to meet them before they had to get the last train home.

We met them, we danced, and I realised that, only being suited up for a quick salsa class and so not dressed nor prepared for a night of clubbing, which it ended up being, meant that I looked a little out of place within the club sporting my massive bag and coat and wearing trainers. However, I managed to pull it off, albeit not without being very much reminded of the hilarious comedian Micky Flannagan's stand up bit that depicted exactly how I felt. Not seen it? Watch this and laugh. It's an order.

Officially one of my favourite British comedians. He makes me LAUGH!

Anywho, so I ended up being Out-Out, had a good time, went home and then proceeded to have yet another weekend (the fourth in a row) with absolutely nothing to do over Saturday and Sunday. I mean sod all. This is always fun when it's every so often. However, I reached a point this weekend where I had had too many of these types of weekends, and I found myself looking at my clock with a longing, praying that the time would speed up to reach the next set of plans I had that involved interaction with other people. This happened to be work, which resulted in me longing for work to come along with the same anticipation one might reserve for waiting for a holiday abroad.

I did try to fill my time with things to do. I had my Hanjie puzzle and a new Sci Fi series on Netflix which I was debating on whether I liked, called Warehouse 13. In case you're interested, I decided I did like this programme, as although it was clearly low budget and not exactly ground breaking, it is also quite funny and I do like to chuckle every now and again.

I also called The-Father, as it was his birthday on Saturday (happy birthday Dad) and Younger-Brother-Daniel twice. The second time I could tell he was getting bored with me, but I persevered as I simply craved any form of interaction.

Sunday, I wrote more of my book, which considering the part I am up to, is both hella exciting and terrifying. I'm scared I'm not going to give the good ideas in my head justice in turning it into word form. The pressure almost sent me over the edge, to the point that I had to take a breather and rewatch the last two episodes of Doctor Who (Day of the Doctor and Name of the Doctor) just to surround myself with good writing and... let's face it... tears. I'm still not at the point where I can hear Amy Pond say "Raggedy Man, Goodnight" without sobbing uncontrollably. Nor can I see the first shot of Peter Capaldi's eyes in Day of the Doctor when the Timelords call out "No sir, all thirteen!" without clapping and whooping with excitement. Matt Smith's last speech is now permanently etched into my brain and "I will not forget one line of it, not one day, I swear." ... Sorry, got carried away there. Where was I?

Ah yes, my life. The real one, as opposed to the fictional world of the Doctor... if it is fiction. We all know that I've uncovered some anomalies with that theory.

So, in short, I found myself going to bed nice and early last night so that I didn't have to count down hours any more and woke up for work this morning with a skip in my step and excitement in my veins! And now I've spent the morning talking to actual people! Huzzah! It's been fun and I'm not at all dreading this weekend and the inevitable two day borefest before I get to come back again... ahem.

Peace out my lovelies.

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