breakfast at tiffanys, mourning, sad, crying, alcohol, alcoholic, drunk

Momentary delusions

There are brief moments in this surprisingly boring hellfire tornado when you feel as if everything is OK. That you are handling it. That you are in actual fact FINE as opposed to collapsing under all the feelings, all the time. Bank those moments when you are hot to trot. Because we all know that no sooner than you think it (and maybe, fatally, say it out loud) then it all goes to shit….

  • Do you ever think you are kind of pretty, then see a different angle of your face and realise you’re actually an abomination? Maybe it’s a photograph posted by a soon-to-be former friend and you start crying hot tears. Or maybe it’s in a shop window and you think, ‘Dear God, poor woman…. Oh.’
  • Do you ever think, ‘It’s going to be an elegant day’ as you sit on the side of the bed planning your outfit – one that you have never worn before but will clearly conquer?  Then you get dressed and look at yourself in the mirror and get back into bed. Also the pyjamas are clearly fucking polyester. Who do you think you are kidding?
  • Do you ever give a sexy look, feel pleased with your hot self and then see the look of horror/surprise on the other person’s face and instantly experience a full-body hot shame flush? Which was not the full-body thing you were looking for at all.
  • Do you ever think, ‘Oh I am quite clever’ as you finish a beautifully-balanced and powerful report which will probably change the fortunes of the company you work for forever and then realise that it’s too big a file to send and you don’t know how to WeTransfer/Dropbox and you wish you could fax it, for fax sake. But that would mean using the printer and it never recognises you anyway, you are in a tech vortex and you understand nothing. Also, faxes? You are old, old, OLD.
  • Do you ever think, ‘Gosh I am a good driver’ as you cruise down the M4 until you realise that the indicator has been on for two junctions? Or you pull out of the insanely-tight parking space that you marvellously squeezed in to and instantly clip someone’s wing mirror? And you remember how much you hate driving and how everyone’s a fucking cunt.
  • Do you ever think, pony-tail flying, ‘I am a really good runner and if I had started running earlier maybe I could have been a contender’ before being overtaken by a pregnant woman pushing a quite-large toddler in a pram? Or you are swimming and you are at one with the pool: it’s you and the water, and you go all Duncan Goodhew. Until a woman, who is not going to see her 90th birthday again, tuts at you for blocking the slow lane.
  • Do you ever think, ‘I am a very good feminist’ whilst wistfully daydreaming about the prince who is going to rescue you from this drudgery and make you wear heels and matching underwear sets because that’s how he likes it. And you’ll never work, cook, clean, work, cook, clean or cry again. Except when your feet are sore.
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