08.02.13- Mates, Memory Blanks & Midday Drinkers

I'm in the mood to write again. Hooray.

Hilarious awareness poster. I'm not
sure who grows 2 heads with mood changes

My mind has been clouded with confusion the last couple of days and I've pushed out the running and gym training to try and clear it, but all that has resulted is an absolutely exhausted body, muscles tighter than Fern Britton's gastric band and blood sugars dropping so low today I actually had the lowest blood sugar reading I've ever had. When I tested this morning, they were 1. As a result I can now remember nothing of my morning except waking and falling back to sleep a couple of times before finally getting dressed, but I must have gone downstairs and shoved something sugary in my gob because they were 4 by the time I woke up, which is still a bit low but not enough to go gambling with consciousness.
On the plus side, I hadn't dribbled, which is always a good thing. I don't know why, but if I sleep in the afternoon my salivary glands have a party. I think they might be solar-powered.
So this was a great start to the day; my morning was deleted.
Therefore I missed my lecture today, which I don't actually mind too much as it was a creative writing workshop. And it was poetry. And critique is often brutal, so I've at least saved my poor poems and my self-confidence from being torn to shreds for at least another week.
This afternoon I went to meet my lovely friend Jaime and her fiance who I work with and they brought their gorgeous little 18-month-old boy Carwyn. He is so cute I am almost considering trading in my cats for babies, but I think running around impregnating myself with anyone and anything might be deemed what can only be described as "slutty." Jaime, Iwan and Carwyn however have a wonderful little family unit and work so well together. That's definitely the sort of sweet little family I would love to have eventually if ever I decide to break free from my cat lady life.
We spent a couple of hours drinking tea in Costa (vital to cat lady existence, and the only time I can say I have spent the afternoon teabagging, harharhar) and then took Carwyn to Toys R Us. I wasn't complaining. I am 22 and Toys R Us still makes me want to run up the aisles screaming, "DAAAADDY, CAN I HAVE THIS ONE?"

My sort of wheels

I didn't do that today, though. Not even when I saw one of those amazing little mini jeeps you get to sit in and cruise around the garden like you're the shit, squinting at the neighbours with a popgun in your hand.
Jaime and Iwan have reminded me today of how much I used to love Lego as a child. They're quite proud to admit that Lego is their "thing", the same as perhaps kittens and poetry are my thing (...Christ I need to get out more). You could give a kid Knex. You can give a kid Duplo. Plasticine. Moon Sand (actually, don't bother; it's crap unless you love sweeping up purple mess from the table and making underwater shapes as discernible as wonky turds). But nothing beats the hours you can pass building Lego houses and castles and fortresses. Nothing beats the pride when you click that final brick into place. You feel like God having created all that Heaven and Earth stuff and letting out a proud "yessssss" under your breath.
Unfortunately I also remember that nothing beats the agony of having your Lego castle demolished by your sister's arse.

A smashed Lego tower during childhood may lead to
psychological trauma and depression in later life

After waving them goodbye, I collided with an ex-love in HMV. Nothing beats the awkward, what-do-I-do-with-my-arms hug between two people who have seen each other naked.
Needless to say, the cloudy feeling in my head came back like one of Dot Cotton's cigarettes.
The evening was spent with my good friend James at the pub. Being Swansea, I was harrassed 3 times on the way along St Helen's Road by drunken perverts, the first of whom claimed to need 20p for a bus (funny, everyone seems to be 20p short for a bus these days). He looked like Worzel Gummidge and smelled like a can of Special Brew. The other two just followed me closely, called me "love" over and over and made sexual comments.
They're lucky my hormones aren't running high and that my hands were cold otherwise I might have twisted their testicles like brass doorknobs.

No matter how loud you play the LOTR
soundtrack on your iPod, he'll never be Bilbo

Swansea isn't just limited to drunk old scruffs however. Though there are a lot of them. Sometimes I secretly let the Lord of the Rings soundtrack carry on playing on my shuffle playlist when I'm walking home through Sandfields so that I can pretend that I am going to witness hobbits ambling about on their way to the Green Dragon rather than the reality of seeing alcoholics and junkies stumbling into a B&B at lunchtime. There are also the wonderful Swansea youths. This evening, James and I saw a group of about 15 all aged at about 14 years old running past singing The Proclaimers' "500 Miles". The pink-haired girl at the back of the group squealed, ran and screamed "OH MY GOD GUUUYS I'M SOOOO DRUNK."
I'm glad I was a freak who stayed in to read The Hobbit and eat Frazzles.
I should probably go to bed now, I've just had to dose up on sugar for the 6th time today and I have a wonderful early start at Sainsbury's tomorrow. My old people are waiting for me to serve them their cans of prunes and Murray Mints with a smile.
God, I can't wait to talk cats with them.