It's funny (not ha ha funny of course, but then again it's always good to see the humourous side of shit) splitting up with someone, because you become slightly senile- well- I do anyhow. Emotional trauma puts the brain into some kind of shock mode, where you can still function, but you occasionally miss something crucial entirely, like eating for example, or remembering to put the milk in the fridge and not the oven (I did this today). Saturday night, 24 hours after doing the deed, I did my obligatory night of anaesthetising myself with a couple of bottles of rose, crying onto a warm, friendly shoulder and, let's not forget to mention, disco bopping solo at 1am to loud cheesy women's anthems of independence. After head banging my way through a few Franklin and Gaynor numbers, I promptly vomited and passed out.
Having got that necessity of heartache out the way, I'm now on a mission to take care of myself, only last night I nearly burnt myself to death having forgot (soberly) to switch off the pre-heat of the electric blanket. I woke up in the early hours soaked in sweat and thought I'd scolded my entire body, but luckily hadn't and had just gone a bit red.
I'm hoping to get through the rest of the week without doing too much damage to myself. Unfortunatly, I had my NHS ID badge done today, and I look like I've done a few rounds with Mike Tyson my eyes are so puffy. The lady who did my pic said I look like the Mona Lisa (this has bizarrely been said before) only happier.....
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