Post-Bang Face Comedown
Ugh. I’m currently experiencing the full-blown awful of a post-Bang Face comedown; after waking up Saturday afternoon I have been feeling fairly rubbish, tired when I shouldn’t be and generally rather glum. My self-medicating consisted of nothing more than a couple of rum, tonic and limes, and after a good night out and an even more enjoyable Half Term I can’t quite explain why i’ve spent this weekend feeling so very down.
I decided to try a change of scene and a treat so I took my “interestingly” styled bedhead down the hill into town and the luxury of Wagamama to take away; I was amused to see the waitress put two sets of chopsticks along with the cartons of food- No, it is just me. All for me…
I hoped all the tasty food would act like a slightly more upmarket version of the healing power of grease found at my usual purveyor of comfort food McDonalds but no; the food was delicious and exciting to eat in my own room (gyoza! deep-fried shrimp!) but I still felt rather glum by the time i’d got to the end of it.
I lay awake for hours that night, thinking about things- MW#1, the assembly me and my form have to come up with, my birthday; when I did eventually manage to drop off I slept fitfully and woke feeling very unrefreshed. To try and cheer myself up I made poached eggs on hot buttered muffins accompanied with a couple of Mini-Babybels and as the rain fell heavily outside my window I curled up in my seat and drank coffee and read the New York Times Weddings and Celebrations pages, marvelling at the stories of love and difficulty within. And the dresses.
And so I spent today doing not very much at all; did the washing up, cooked chorizo pasta for dinner and grilled a giant grapefruit with sugar and rum for dessert. I drank hot chocolate and watched the goddamned Sex and the City Movie again and cried again and felt hopeless again.
Not that we are going out, but it’s fairly stressful waiting to see if you’re going to be dumped, and although I am but a member of a non-consensual arrangement I feel similarly to those in relationships waiting for the knife to fall and having no input. Stressed. Anxious. Upset.
Every night I lie awake and think about the impending DOOOOM, saying over-and-over in my head “I can’t take much more of this” before tossing and turning my way towards sleep; I clutch Patrick close to me, imagining I was being held and that the ache filling my throat and chest was gone. Oh, the unbridled joy of weekends…