Hallelujah - or not so much..

During my short stay in London I discvered a few things about myself.
1. I really love the city.
2. I really HATE the Underground
and 3. I'm not good around the song Hallelujah.

The first thing is self-explanatory, the second I can't explain, but I found myself dreading the trips going under the surface of the earth. Going through those nastily lit, creepy, way too hot tunnels filled with other people who are potential carriers of all kinds of sick stuff.

The third one I found out in the exact same place I hated in London - the Underground. We were walking sowewhere in the tunnels when I heard the music. Some guy was playing his guitar so beautifully and the sounds grew stronger and stronger by each step. In the beginning I thought "how nice!", but then I figured which song it was. For some reason it always makes me sad. It's an emotianal song, I know, but I really hate that I ALWAYS without exception get to the verge of tears when hearing it. I can't help it.

I wanted to smile at the guy or at least do something to indicate I liked his play, but I was too saddened to even look at him.


Damn you emotions...

I miss the sunshine

Paranoid

As I sit here in the my living room I have gradually grown more and more paranoid as the hours have passed by. Odd noises and something that sometimes sounded like voices have kept freaking me out and keeps me on edge and very scared indeed.
Outside it's raining and raging possibly a storm brewing up, but I'm inside and relatively safe. I try to remind myself of this even thought the strange noises and the repeated car alarm going off scares the hell out of me. For the past ten minutes it has gone off at least five times.
I try to keep calm and focus on Big Bang Theory, as long as I pretend everything is fine, everything really IS fine. Pretending is nice in these situations. Makes some kind of fake safety.

I really wish the alarm would stop. I feel like someone is out beside the car.

Maybe I should just go to sleep and let it all out. Escape from all the bad things.

Sail away

And then I made myself sick..

I woke up this morning feeling like shit. Then I went outside and the cold to my skin filled me with a desire to accomplish something today. I was NOT to go back to sleep as I had otherwise planned. Instead I was to DO something. Try get a job.
Then something went wrong. I sickened myself and suddenly I found myself crouching on the couch with extreme abdominal pains. Nausea began and in the span of less than a quarter I went from a state of positiveness to hit rock bottom.
Then I slept. I slept for a while surrounding my dog. Honestly I don't know how long I had been under since my only thing indicating something was the number on the countdown at MTV.

Bottom line: I feel like shit and I know I induced it on myself.

Did you know..?

.. That I can't handle shots? Well, now you do.
This weekend turned out to be one of the most alcoholic ones for me in months! The last time I drank this much several days in a row was when I went to Berlin with my friend in August. Wow. And apparently I need to rebuild my drinking-stamina. Or I could just keep being the weak-drinker I was meant to be. Maybe.

Friday was J-day. The one day of the year on which the Christmas beer comes to the bars. Of course I had to go out on such a nice Friday evening with a couple of friends and a festive mood. Never mind the fact I was to work at 6 in the morning the next day. Work is NEVER a good excuse to turn down a night out with your friends. Remember it!
Oh what a nice evening it was! Free Christmas beer and a sparkling pin too! What more could you ask for?? I sincerely couldn't come up with something during all the dancing. Dancing. Hah. I like how that word makes everyone think of something cool and nice, but when I talk about me dancing I'm seriously not thinking of the likes. Nope, I think the ugliest dance ever imaginable! Take one look and you would think I was crazy to perform such an act in public. Social suicide if you'd like.
Which is why I can't crack this one. During dancing with my friends someone came up to me and said she was asking on her friend's behalf, how old I was. Was this a troll? Did she mean to ask me how old I was because I was a. dancing like a dork or b. dressing like a deranged Dane? Or was it other reasons that made this girl ask her friend if she could ask me how old I was. I'll probably never know.

My friends thought I should have said 42.