Mar. 5th, 2016

hathycol: (buggar)
This weekend, Richie is at Philip's stag do. I have spent the last fortnight very quietly longing for this weekend to get going. Don't get me wrong - I love Richie and will be suitably delighted when he returns - but dear god I am so done with people at the moment. I spent last night with a bottle of wine and Mad Max and today I went for a long run and cleaned the house.

A couple of weekends ago I travelled to Glasgow for Ann's wedding to Alex, which ended up being a rather delightful weekend. We were splitting a room with Fiona and had a catch up with a few other people the night before, although we found out during the wedding that most people seemed to also be a Travelodge!

The wedding itself was in a bar/restaurant type place over a few floors, so we all obviously started the morning with a Baileys. This was an attempt to deal with my beautiful but deeply uncomfortable shoes! The ceremony was humanist, which I've not seen before, the groom wept copiously, a dog was the ringbearer which is an excellent life choice. In the afternoon the St Andrews crowd colonised a table and I met new people, caught up with old friends and acquaintances, and I drank slightly too much white wine and then did not eat enough of the meal, which was a fairly bad decision but on the bright side I definitely sobered up for the evening disco and spent several hour dancing like a hot and sweaty madwoman to assorted cheesy music. We survived until the end, and wound our way back through the damp Glasweigan streets to our hotel with Ellen, who also survived to the end and was in the same hotel.

Richie and I travelled back first class, where I hoovered up my own weight in free tea and snacks to try and deal with my hangover. Hoo boy.

It's not like I've done much else since then, mind you. I have mostly been running increasingly long distances just to see if I can do it (the answer: slowly! but yes!) and working. Even last weekend was one of precisely no human interaction outside of Richie. Work has been kicking me while I'm down, too. This week I did a five day week for the first time all month. I continue to search for a minion and slightly terrifyingly I am now going to be in official charge of my minion in the capacity of a line manager. I am trying not to have Imposter Syndrome about this. This is half of the reason I need a weekend of just not fucking talking to anyone and doing all the things that make me happy. This includes cleaning the house and letting it stay clean, jogging slowly along the canal, watching rubbish films, reading books in bed and ordering a pizza tonight. I just need to recharge in a way I haven't really been able to in a few months.
hathycol: (Default)
This weekend, Richie is at Philip's stag do. I have spent the last fortnight very quietly longing for this weekend to get going. Don't get me wrong - I love Richie and will be suitably delighted when he returns - but dear god I am so done with people at the moment. I spent last night with a bottle of wine and Mad Max and today I went for a long run and cleaned the house.

A couple of weekends ago I travelled to Glasgow for Ann's wedding to Alex, which ended up being a rather delightful weekend. We were splitting a room with Fiona and had a catch up with a few other people the night before, although we found out during the wedding that most people seemed to also be a Travelodge!

The wedding itself was in a bar/restaurant type place over a few floors, so we all obviously started the morning with a Baileys. This was an attempt to deal with my beautiful but deeply uncomfortable shoes! The ceremony was humanist, which I've not seen before, the groom wept copiously, a dog was the ringbearer which is an excellent life choice. In the afternoon the St Andrews crowd colonised a table and I met new people, caught up with old friends and acquaintances, and I drank slightly too much white wine and then did not eat enough of the meal, which was a fairly bad decision but on the bright side I definitely sobered up for the evening disco and spent several hour dancing like a hot and sweaty madwoman to assorted cheesy music. We survived until the end, and wound our way back through the damp Glasweigan streets to our hotel with Ellen, who also survived to the end and was in the same hotel.

Richie and I travelled back first class, where I hoovered up my own weight in free tea and snacks to try and deal with my hangover. Hoo boy.

It's not like I've done much else since then, mind you. I have mostly been running increasingly long distances just to see if I can do it (the answer: slowly! but yes!) and working. Even last weekend was one of precisely no human interaction outside of Richie. Work has been kicking me while I'm down, too. This week I did a five day week for the first time all month. I continue to search for a minion and slightly terrifyingly I am now going to be in official charge of my minion in the capacity of a line manager. I am trying not to have Imposter Syndrome about this. This is half of the reason I need a weekend of just not fucking talking to anyone and doing all the things that make me happy. This includes cleaning the house and letting it stay clean, jogging slowly along the canal, watching rubbish films, reading books in bed and ordering a pizza tonight. I just need to recharge in a way I haven't really been able to in a few months.

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hathycol

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