about a girl
2002-12-27 || 8:10 p.m.

Physical labour has many benefits. Its certainly snapped me out of feeling quite so sorry for myself although I still feel like emotional crap, I'm just not wallowing quite so much.

I got lots done today. I managed to begin a spring clean like I said I would earlier on. I did the whole of the front room, which didn't take too long because I did it thoroughly a couple of weeks back just before I put the decorations up. Then I did the kitchen. I've almost done it. It was the mouse poo cupboards that killed me. Fucking hell, the stuff I've thrown away. I know I'm not likely to have any house guests given the semi-derelict state of my home but I have to say, just for the record, there is NO mouse poo in my food cupboards. I'm not that disgusting.

My Christmas tree would be better described as a pot of sticks. Every year I fear I will fail to equal my poor choice of tree from the year before, but every year I rise defiantly to the challenge and surpass myself, purchasing a tree that is crappier than any version so far seen.

I need to go and sit down on the sofa where I'll be more comfortable. I have bad period pains, bad headache, backache, fucking hormones. But I love it really and every month I'm SO tempted to join the 'I love periods' diaryring. My love of periods was yet another thing I articulated in the staff room at school to be met with bemusement and thinly veiled disapproval.

I know, you know and they know I do it deliberately. I really should have grown out of it by now.