can't wait for the weekend to begin
But we prayed to our God and guarded the city day and night to protect ourselves. (Nehemiah 4:9)
I'm probably cheating at this. If I was (were?) back at Uni this blog would be far more interesting, fraught with anxieties and disappointments, valleys and peaks and a lot more temptation. At the moment, however, I'm not inviting temptation. Last Saturday's few hours in the pub were the nearest I got to taking some time out in the local dives. Compared to the time I tried to give up drinking (13 days, but a very good excuse for the wine that broke the camel's back) I feel as though I can do this.
Things are currently conspiring to give me excuses: the raw chicken, a late shift last night that meant I couldn't join some mates on the lash, and this weekend coming when I have to be somewhere at 10am and can't stay out the whole night. Ooh, am I growing up? These excuses are sounding kinda mature!
The raw chicken can also be explained by my passionate love of food. This is how I justify the inability to give up drinking. By drinking I mean a few glasses of wine here, a pint or two there, I have never been able to binge heavily. I sit and growl menacingly at the sparky bastards who claim they "never get hangovers". In my mind I am a dog with large teeth and barely controlled rage raising my hackles at the fluffy bunny that has seen fit to bounce across my lawn. The fluffy bunny is blissfully ignorant of the danger approaching and if it wasn't for the damn chain shackling me to the house (see what I did there, the chain is my own hangover...) I would spring with all manner of force on the innocent little tyke.
In all honesty, I like my sleep and I like to feel vaguely fresh in the mornings. I am not a pretty sight when the sun comes up, even after a day of fruit, veg and water. So it makes sense that I'm avoiding the drinking dancing temptation of nights out. This verse seemed to sum it up: I'm guarding the city. It won't last, but an initial burst of zealous enthusiasm couldn't hurt in the long run.
Last night I agreed to go for a drink with someone. Immediately my shoulders have slumped and my face dissolved into a frown. It's not as if I get asked out on dates often, but it's irrelevent how many people register their interest if your interest is minimal at best. I hate letting people down, but the last thing you need is to be spending time with someone out of duress. My uber-boss - the hierarchy at work is mostly linear and entirely male - asked if I had a boyfriend, I said no, he asked why, I said because I hadn't met anyone I wanted to go out with, he asked what I did when I needed affection and companionship (and sex of course, but that's a different issue altogether). I paused and told him that I would want those things with someone I liked rather than someone I was using for my own purposes.
I have known too many friends at school and Uni who did just that: went out with people because they felt they should, they wanted to feel special, they had become dependent on being in relationship status. I don't get it. Ally McBeal - may she rest in peace - talked about getting the "ick", although this would happen after a few dates. I seem to get the ick on being asked for a date. It does mean I have more nights free, but then I use it to watch shite tv! I need a hobby.
So do I tell the boy no, actually, I don't want to meet you for a drink? Or do I go for the drink, have a pleasant chat and a free glass of something cold and hope he doesn't upgrade to dinner? Or, should I do what characters in derivative Western youth programmes do and act so appallingly that he never wants to see me again; only to discover he is in fact so fascinated by my brutal honesty and engaging liveliness that he turns up at my door the next day with flowers. Hmm, methinks option 2, just in case.
This weekend will officially begin on Friday afternoon, can't wait.
I'm probably cheating at this. If I was (were?) back at Uni this blog would be far more interesting, fraught with anxieties and disappointments, valleys and peaks and a lot more temptation. At the moment, however, I'm not inviting temptation. Last Saturday's few hours in the pub were the nearest I got to taking some time out in the local dives. Compared to the time I tried to give up drinking (13 days, but a very good excuse for the wine that broke the camel's back) I feel as though I can do this.
Things are currently conspiring to give me excuses: the raw chicken, a late shift last night that meant I couldn't join some mates on the lash, and this weekend coming when I have to be somewhere at 10am and can't stay out the whole night. Ooh, am I growing up? These excuses are sounding kinda mature!
The raw chicken can also be explained by my passionate love of food. This is how I justify the inability to give up drinking. By drinking I mean a few glasses of wine here, a pint or two there, I have never been able to binge heavily. I sit and growl menacingly at the sparky bastards who claim they "never get hangovers". In my mind I am a dog with large teeth and barely controlled rage raising my hackles at the fluffy bunny that has seen fit to bounce across my lawn. The fluffy bunny is blissfully ignorant of the danger approaching and if it wasn't for the damn chain shackling me to the house (see what I did there, the chain is my own hangover...) I would spring with all manner of force on the innocent little tyke.
In all honesty, I like my sleep and I like to feel vaguely fresh in the mornings. I am not a pretty sight when the sun comes up, even after a day of fruit, veg and water. So it makes sense that I'm avoiding the drinking dancing temptation of nights out. This verse seemed to sum it up: I'm guarding the city. It won't last, but an initial burst of zealous enthusiasm couldn't hurt in the long run.
Last night I agreed to go for a drink with someone. Immediately my shoulders have slumped and my face dissolved into a frown. It's not as if I get asked out on dates often, but it's irrelevent how many people register their interest if your interest is minimal at best. I hate letting people down, but the last thing you need is to be spending time with someone out of duress. My uber-boss - the hierarchy at work is mostly linear and entirely male - asked if I had a boyfriend, I said no, he asked why, I said because I hadn't met anyone I wanted to go out with, he asked what I did when I needed affection and companionship (and sex of course, but that's a different issue altogether). I paused and told him that I would want those things with someone I liked rather than someone I was using for my own purposes.
I have known too many friends at school and Uni who did just that: went out with people because they felt they should, they wanted to feel special, they had become dependent on being in relationship status. I don't get it. Ally McBeal - may she rest in peace - talked about getting the "ick", although this would happen after a few dates. I seem to get the ick on being asked for a date. It does mean I have more nights free, but then I use it to watch shite tv! I need a hobby.
So do I tell the boy no, actually, I don't want to meet you for a drink? Or do I go for the drink, have a pleasant chat and a free glass of something cold and hope he doesn't upgrade to dinner? Or, should I do what characters in derivative Western youth programmes do and act so appallingly that he never wants to see me again; only to discover he is in fact so fascinated by my brutal honesty and engaging liveliness that he turns up at my door the next day with flowers. Hmm, methinks option 2, just in case.
This weekend will officially begin on Friday afternoon, can't wait.
posted by from sychar to eternity at 11:46
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