Over Hung

Health Warning: The blog post that you are about to read is devoid of humour, wit or pictures. It is pure self indulgent self analysis. Side affects include nausea, eye rolling, and in extreme cases, temporary night blindness. Read at your own risk.


I got emotional drunk again last night. Seems to be something that's happening more frequently of late. I need to get a grip. I need to stop using the amount of attention I'm getting from my friends as a barometer of how much fun I'll allow myself to think I'm having. And I need to drink less. MUCH less! I can't handle my booze any more and I seem to be missing the bit of the brain that tells you when you've had enough.

Why, when I'm on the dizzy water, do I seek constant approval? What/where does it get me? I don't understand what I'm supposed to do with the "well done, you are a worthy human being. Consider your existence validated, and help yourself to a biscuit" that I seem to crave so badly.

It suddenly strikes me as weird - that I sap so much of my own energy chasing something as totally immaterial as approval. Approval won't change me, my circumstances, my finances, health, or long term well being. So why does everything I do revolve around obtaining it?

Well done, Freud, I think we've had a breakthrough! Help yourself to a biscuit.

I'm Not Drunk, I'm a Social Bloody Butterfly!!

Christmas dinner with work last night. Nothing quite like watching your workmates happily chatter amongst one another over a well cooked....

Bah, fuck the saccharine blog talk!

Last night was my third Christmas meal/do with the company I've been swapping time for money with since the day I ran out into the car park, leaping for joy that I'd got my first proper job... In front of my now-manager, who, unbeknownst to me at the time, was still stood by the door, probably immediately regretting his decision.

This was the only one I've attended sober. It was bizarre. Good, but bizarre. The food was cowing lush, my workmates were making me do little almost-wees of laughter, and the secret Santa gift I got was so thoughtful it made me squeak.

As I said, I've been nothing short of plastered for the past two such events. Most of us end up being in the same state. Tis the season to run around dance floors with no shoes on with your professional superiors...or something.

It just doesn't feel like Christmas has been done justice if the next day, at least half of the office aren't sweating in front of fans, groaning and wearing sun glasses indoors in the dead of winter. And it's never in vain. The nights out we have are silly, memorable, and nearly always end up in a casino at six in the morning.

But last night was weird. I'm socially awkward at the best of times (a socially inept blogger? Holy crackers, Batman!!), but because I wasn't lubricated in the brainular region this time,I just couldn't bring myself to relax. My posture was so rigid, I looked like I had hot GHDs lodged up my anus for the whole thing. I was hypersensitive, and could feel my brain lighting up like multi coloured fairy lights. At least it kept things seasonal.

I was either talking so quickly that I wasn't forming real words- just sort of chirruping at my colleagues, talking too quietly to be heard, or shouting in mad, overly enthusiastic bursts.

I looked. And sounded. Fucking. Mental.

I'm not sure if it's just a British thing, or If there's a sad truth in my saying that, contrary to my prior belief, I've never got over the fear of big groups of people, no matter how well I know the people in it. I've been more or less convinced that I got over all that shit at sixteen, seventeen....coincidentally, somewhere around the time of my first alco pop (gag).

Hmm. Something fun to think about.

Right after my night out with aforementioned work buddies this Black Friday. Christmas spirit first, over indulgent self an analysis after!

Cheers, all!