And in the end the sun will rise on one more day

The worst thing about feeling low, is the feeling of guilt that comes with it. That feeling that you should not be down or sad or frustrated like this, that you should be pushing on and ploughing through. That you should be shrugging it off and moving on. That worst things happen at sea. And on land, come to that.

That your problems are not on a par with the crisis in the middle east shouldn't matter, everyone's problems are their problems. Sometimes I think you can spend so long resolving to be happy that you don't just allow yourself to be sad when you need to.

Which is a round about way of saying.... I feel low. I feel low, and blue, and sad, and frustrated about lots of things. It's not my health, or my family, or my general nearest and dearest. No one has died or is ill. But still every day I wake up and drag myself to work to feel....everything from apathy to rage. I'm tired of the frustrations. I hate that I didn't get the job last week. The commute seems to steal a bit of my soul every day. I'm single and tired of being single and tired of having to be OK with being single. I'm tired of being out all the time, I'm tired of having no time and no sleep. I'm tired of being tired. And I'm tired of him, of being powerless to stop him drifting into my sleep at night, while I'm at the mercy of my unconsciousness.

Sometimes it feels like, a few years ago we were all unwittingly playing a game of musical chairs. Someone stopped the music and most people grabbed a seat. But some of us didn't realise that the music had stopped, so we're keeping on going, not noticing all the chairs have been taken.

...but I'm just drowning, going under, wishing you'd say we could

Still have you
In my sleep
For with our dreams
I am always weak

Have a little faith in me

"When the road gets dark, and you can no longer see, let my love throw a spark, and have a little faith in me"

I had a job interview today, and it didn't go well. This afternoon, parts of the morning kept coming back to me in horrific flashbacks, causing me to feel crapper and crapper, beating myself up even more than usual. But then I was listening this song and it struck me how unneccessary that was. I'm harder on myself than any other person could conceivably be. If you want to insult me or bring me down, don't bother, because I got there first.

Why do I let myself do that? If I don't have faith in myself, who will? Today might not have gone well, but it doesn't define me. One thing I hang on to is that I'm good at my job. I know I'm good at my job, I know I'm an asset, and although it's a cliche to say, if they don't offer me the position, it's their loss. I don't need to feel bad, I don't need to eat my body weight in chocolate, or drown my sorrows in wine. I may not be a very religious person, but I have faith in myself, and faith that life will muddle its way to where I need to be.

I'm moving on.

Next.

The start of a fine romance

I am exhausted. The trouble with friends in London is that you often know people separately, for different reasons, and so you can be out every night catching up with individual people. Some friends I've managed to 'group' together, but by and large it's a one to one affair. I was out every night last week and I have commitments every night this week. I know i shouldn't moan, i love my friends dearly, and there was a time when i felt like i had none here at all, but i feel almost desperate to just stay in and watch excessive TV. I put the breaks on this weekend, because I had a job application to write. Seriously, what is the deal with those things? I'm almost done but I tell you, Booker Prize winning novels have been completed in less time.

Friday night was a different story however. I was invited to my friends birthday party, which he was holding in a rather old school 'cool' pub. Think bluebloods and politics rather than 'I'm so arty and cool, I refuse to like a band anyone would have heard of '. Fun, but I can only take so much policital chat. Why can't we just talk about last nights Hollyoaks? Anyway, I have known my friend who invited me since I was 7, we went to school together throughout, though he was a year behind me. However to meet him now you'd think he would have spent his formulative years in Eton, not a quiet Yorkshire town. He's a policitian now, though at least for the Labour party so that's something. He's also gay, a fact that doesn't bother me in the slightest, but still seems to cause him some discomfort, as he's not really 'out' at home. It has become something that I know, and he knows that I know, and he knows that I know he knows, but we never speak of. I decided this was ridiculous, so when chatting and catching up, I asked if he was still with J, his partner. Of course I knew he was, J was there, along with a gaggle of girls and a host of gay movers and shakers (seriously, never go to one of S's parties with a view to meeting a man. Unless you're gay of course, in which case you're set). S looked uncomfortable, and confirmed that he was, but made murmurings about not telling people at home. I assured him that I would not, but that he should remember that the only people were still friends with back home couldn't care less (and in fact, let's be honest, knew anyway). I also demanded that he stopped hiding J, and instead bring him round for dinner sometime. Whenever I see J, he is always lovely, and I when I mentioned this plan to him later in the evening, he was delighted and insisted on taking my number to ensure it happened.

Anyway, this is a rather long introduction to the other people we met there. I had brought L, my housemate, and as we sat there chitchatting and feeling like we needed to be blonde and about 10 times more attractive to belong there, a blast from her past walked in, in the form of K, a guy she knew at school. A guy who was mercilessly bullied at school, and was now attending this party with his equally charming boyfriend. I discovered from L later that K had seemed as shocked to see her there as she was he, not least because he wasn't really out at home. So I guess it's a common tale. L and K are not from Yorkshire, but they are from a small Midlands town, so they understand the sentiment.

You know, I always maintain that you're better off being fairly uncool at school. After all, who wants to peak then? You're less that a quarter through your life. S is now a happy political guy. K is a respected Doctor. Even I do something vaguely useful. But you'll never really block out those little fears when you go home, which I guess is why K and S are still walking those lines.

But what's the start of a fine romance that I alude to in the title? It's that moment when you make a new friend, and you're just as pleased as if prince charming himself had swooped into your life, wisked you off on his gallant steed and taken you to a gay bar. K and his boyfriend were fantastic fun, we headed off into the night with them, and had it not been for L being suddenly overcome with too much wine, we would have partied til dawn. I'm going to invite them over at the same time as S and J. I think it should be fun.