I hate weekends

I spend my weekdays wishing I wasn’t at work, yet weekends are proving to be equally horrid but for different reasons.

The weekend usually means emotional fuckery and crying as I have time to think about Coppell. It’s not that I don’t think of him during the week (I crawl under the duvet each night and he pops into my head as I hug Patrick), but I guess there’s more time to think. If I go into town on an errand I have to walk near his house (he lives only ten minutes from mine) and I spend most of my time being afraid i’ll see him (which is unlikely) and having my stomach drop through the floor when I see someone that looks a bit like him. Eugh.

Met up with Caversham Princess and saw !Statham! get his “actually able to act” on in Safe (it was incoherent but rather good); we followed the film with dinner and lots of conversation. I keep wondering, when will people not want to hear about Coppell and how I am doing? I feel like I should already be recovered, as y’know, it couldn’t be *that* upsetting as we only spent six months together, and then only four weeks in each other’s company.

I’ve tried a variety of things to help me feel better: cooking, eating more chocolate, extra-long hot showers, masturbation, reading, flowers, wine, TV, friends, but nothing seems to soothe the ache inside. Keeping busy is important, but when I spend my work-week wishing I wasn’t there, finding “something”, whatever that is, is going to prove a challenge.

Then again, i’m approaching my emotional pain like it’s a problem to be solved. But is it? Feelings aren’t always rational, so why should I assume that rational things will deflect the pain?

Sigh.

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