Partying like an 18 year old
Hello my loves.
I have to warn you that I’m not making a great deal of sense. My mind is full of little spaces.
The reason why I’ve not been around much recently, is because I’ve been recruiting freshers to join my singing society, and partying like an 18 year old. I’m 22 in about a week and I have to say, I can feel the difference between myself and the 18 year old freshers. At a rather nice wine evening a few days ago I suddenly realised I was meant to be setting an example and being sophisticated. And what was I doing? Drinking red wine out of a bottle, cocktails out of a goldfish bowl, and doing the Despina dance - which believe me, you don’t want to see. All was saved the morning after, when my lovely friend who I stayed with made me the best hangover breakfast in the world: water, paracetamol, double espresso, sticky rice, and an orange / banana / strawberry smoothie. I’d recommend it to anyone!
Then last night we went out with some friends who we’d not seen since our paella night, and quite spontaneously got rather drunk, oops. I don’t do this, I don’t drink, I’m meant to be responsible! But it is such fun though. And it’s even more fun to share good times with Jez, who is so quiet but so funny, so demonstrative and so cute! I don’t tell him all the compliments my friends pay him when he’s not around, but it’s wonderful for me to be with someone who is very much admired.
So, what else have I been getting up to?
Last weekend I sang in two different churches just down the road from my house. One was a gig for the Society of Mary - yes, seriously. (In no way am I slamming the Catholic Church, by the way. Despite my atheism I really enjoy and respect Catholic worship.) I sang the solos and it was dead lovely. The other was for the feast of St Norbert, and it was very high church. All was going well until the priests were processing ceremoniously out of the church. As they passed us, my friend decided to jab me in the left buttock with a very sharp pencil. How I managed not to shriek is nothing short of a miracle. I got him back by throwing cheese at him whilst we were all having drinks in the priests’ house!
I’ve also been applying for jobs. Crappy shop jobs. But oh well, I need the cash and I don’t mind doing something brainless.
Then I registered at uni, and handed in a form that was six months overdue, something to do with a project I’m meant to be doing.
Then I went to the doctor who refused to give me happy pills because I don’t need them, apparently it’s just my personality type. So we’ll see how it goes. More like her personality type ie Sceptical. I wasn’t going to go in there and start wailing and try to throw myself out of her window just to prove a point. I just wished she’d trusted my judgement a bit more. I told her my symptoms and my history, but because I didn’t break down, because I kept it together, I just don’t think she believed me. As I said, we’ll see. I’m going to see a counsellor in university on Monday.
I also went to the hippy co-operative cafe and supermarket with a friend I’ve not seen for a year. She’s a veterinary medicine student, we spent hours talking about Tescopoly and the state of British farming, folk music, Scotland, rowing, gigging, Gilbert and Sullivan, everything! We’re growing more and more alike, I hope I actually get to Cambridge to see her this year.
Oh yes, and I tried to cut off my thumb with a vegetable peeler. I was peeling a butternut squash so as you can imagine I was putting in a lot of effort. And when the accident happened, I wasn’t brave at all, I cried my eyes out! It just hurt so much. Jez TCPed me and put a plaster on, and then the nurse stuck it back together the next day and put a stupid bandage on it. Silly Despina.
I think that’s just about it really. I’m going out now. We have to find the car.
Bottoms up!
