Bank Holiday Monday

It is 5.30pm on a Bank Holiday, and I should be working. As per usual, I try and find any possible excuse to reprieve the boring read after taking a break for a walk. So, my mind wanders. Like a bored child in a department store.

I wish I could come up with something funny/clever/interesting/engaging.. not a chance. Not on demand. I should know this by now.
So, I shall just say ‘hi’, if anybody happens to read. If you are bored too, and decide to check out this blog. If you want to share a thought, please feel free to do so.
I will go back to my consumed papers. At least for a little while.

Girly moments

A few things happened in the last couple of weeks that brought me back to days I thought to be well and gone.

1. Girly crush.
Do you remember when you were at school and desperately wanted to be friends with this really really cool girl (read 'boy' if you are a man)? Remember the dorky attempts to look interesting and worth talking to? The tiny little steps towards a full conversation, trying to avoid appearing too needy? Well, I am having a girl crush right now. At my dear ripe old age.

I so want this gal to be my friend, I am doing it all wrong. I make a constant fool of myself, in my full clumsy splendour (I keep dropping objects, braking utensils.. the usual). I say all the wrong things. And sound as odd as I can be. I almost asked her out for drinks, then felt inappropriate and left it.

How can this possibly be? How can a professional, semi-adjusted 30-something still worry about rejection? And not even by a man?? Why am I so scared of asking an intelligent, successful, inspiring, funny, articulate woman out?
Gulp!

2. Girly giggles.
Out with some girlfriends, I went to order a boring tomorrow-is-a-school-day pineapple juice and found myself hit on by a cute 20-year old American barman. I was so surprised, I actually started giggling like some kind of idiot. When he offered to buy me a proper drink, and then smiled in my direction while I was discussing cleaning agents with the ladies, I went through all the obvious uncomfortable moves: hair-touching, mouth-covering, wedding-band wiggling. At the end of the evening, the only possible way out was straight and fast through the exit. No looking back.
What a loser.. (Me that is)

3. Girly night.
At the end of what felt like a 20-hour work day, I packed my bag and directed my fed-up self towards a busy bar. On the spur of the moment, two friends joined me for an impromptu drink that ended up into a girly boozy night. Weekend plans, life-changing decisions, sex accounts, mild gossip, unrequested declarations of friendship (sorry I made you feel uncomfortable)... the whole shebang. The morning after was slightly painful, but I still managed to go for a run.
Nice.

The smiling guy‏

In an underground train carriage, I find myself staring idly around at my fellow passengers. I briefly catch somebody's fleeting smile. Is this guy actually smiling at me? I look away, look around, look down, look back. Yep, he is most definitely smiling. And in this direction. (Seat on my left? Empty. On my right? A glass pane)
First thought: I must have toothpaste all over my top. Second thought: is he laughing at me? Third thought: if he is not been sarcastic, he must be blind. Or with a fascination for odd women with crazy hair. Or.. And off I go, on a solitary journey of self deprecation. For the whole route from South Kensington to Monument. By the time I get off, I am exhausted. But, more excruciatingly, I feel like a compete moron. Because while I was self obsessing, scrutinising my insecurities, I failed to notice that the smiling guy had absolutely no concealed motive whatsoever. He was just a happy chappy grinning away at the world. He kept smiling at his book while reading, at the man who sat next to him at Victoria, at the little dog that almost bit his finger off. And at me, because I happened to sit opposite. No harm intended.

And I missed it all. Entrapped in my paranoia.

What a muppet.

Comfortably smug

Promise: I will not talk about the awesome concert, music event, moment of tears and emotion I have recently witnessed. I realise I have already bored everybody to death with my tales of a certain Mr Gilmour appearing on top of a certain Wall to play with a certain Mr Waters. So I will not insist on Mr Mason joining in for what is likely to be the very last time. Enough said.

Truth is, I am sporting an uncharacteristic grin today. May sound daft, but for once I had a string of good news, and that made me happy. With the happiness of the best kind: the one that has got nothing to do with you. That is to say, nothing I heard of related directly to me. Just my friends, my family, my colleagues, who saw some hopes translating into reality.

Pretty cool, uh?

Officially odd

In case additional evidence was needed, it is 
now scientifically proven that I am weird. 
Very weird.
 
What do people do on their birthdays? 
Celebrate? Get drunk? Eat too much sugar?
Have parties? Presents? Cards?
 
What do I do? I wake up in the middle of the
night with the urgent need to update my will. 
Yes, I got up, dug it out, and set out to 
rewrite it, when I realised that the latest 
version was dated May 3, 2006. I had the exact 
same idea five years ago!! 
 
Is this some kind of back-handed celebration of life? The Thanathos/Eros battle?
Or just pure and simple OCD? Control of life, control of death. No idea. 
I do know that the past year has been massively odd. So it is only fair to end
it in the same style. 
 
Now, it is time for a new chapter.
 
Happy Birthday to me.