Fucking hell fire! I have had an interminably monstrous few days. Thank you, lovely ladies, for wondering where I was. I woke up on Wednesday morning to no internet connection - ditto mobile phone. I rang the 3 network who informed me that 'work' was being done in my postcode area and that I would be without phone and internet for the next three days. I not-very-gently explained that, despite living out in the sticks, I did not expect to experience the level of inconvenience which might reasonably be expected if I lived in, say, the fucking Himalayas. So..facing three days of utter isolation I decided to make some work-related appointments in Manchester and hence Be Productive.
On the train to Manchester on Thursday morning I was sat in a carriage with a throng of drunken lunatics from Glasgow, one of whom recognised me from a SKYTV documentary I appeared in called Naked In Blackpool. Cue fifty minutes of jeering, cheering, probing, mock-masturbating and whistling. It was ghastly and hilarious in equal measure. By the time I alighted in Manchester I felt soiled. It gets worse. Walking along Deansgate I bumped into an old friend whose son I had sex with when I was thirty-seven. He was a month away from his seventeenth birthday and was still in braces (those cement train-track ones). Fucking disgusting, I know (when my friend found out she slapped me across the face and her husband shook my hand. She then slapped him across the face). When I bumped into her she said, 'still shagging sixteen year-old boys?' and looked at me with such contempt I felt physically crushed.
Then, yesterday morning, my CRB (Criminal Record Bureau) form finally arrived, which had been requested by the drug and alcohol addiction charity I am hoping to volunteer with. Upon reading it I was so starkly reminded of my horrible misdemeanours I started to cry: drink driving x 2; assault; drunken disorderly; theft; battery (52 days imprisonment suspended for 12 months); assaulting a police officer - the list was endless. It was as if, in the last forty-eight hours, I had been assaulted by the very worst excesses of my past; stuff which I have tried very hard to bury and atone for, but from which I will evidently never quite be unshackled. I despise the person I used to be: the ego-driven, narcissistic, self-indulgent, nymphomaniacal, devil-may-care twat who lived through her twenties and thirties without a care for anyone or the consequences of my actions. I must have carried such an air of entitlement it makes me feel nauseous just thinking about what I was like to be around.
I'm not usually prone to bouts of self-loathing but it's been a strange few days, particularly as I had no means of coming to you all with my wobbles. To top it all, DP has started smoking again. I had my suspicions during the week but he has flatly - and hotly - denied it. When he offered me a rather perfunctory peck on the lips last night after work I smelled smoke. After a 40 second grilling he admitted he is 'having the odd one'. Dear reader...I hit the fucking roof. I asked him why he thought he was so special that smoking cessation was simply too insurmountable a demand for him as a human being. Why, I asked, is it just impossible for him to give up? 'Because I don't want to', came the petulant reply. I said, 'well, I don't want to make your fucking tea every night when I would much rather be watching Emmerdale, but I fucking do it'. Then I said, 'tell you what...you carry on smoking your fucking selfish head off and I will find a man to fuck who doesn't have spasticated sperm with a 3% morphology. How does that suit you, dickhead?' He mumbled something about me doing what I like and skulked away to his bedroom and wasn't seen again until this morning.
So..last night, after the aforementioned brouhaha and in the pitch black darkness of the country lanes, I went in search of the nearest phone box to cry to my mum. Of course, she insisted I come to her house for the rest of the weekend and here I am....with internet access! Hurrah!! I am sorry for this long post and I know it's relatively silly stuff which shouldn't have impacted so greatly upon my confidence these last few days, but it has - and I have missed you all very much.
I'm on CD11 and it has been the longest fucking eleven days of my life (or so it has seemed). I am so bored of this TTC shit. I am bored of sex (I was twiddling my thumbs for something to do yesterday morning sans t'internet and briefly considered masturbating. I couldn't be arsed. I couldn't be arsed having an orgasm. What the absolute downright fuck?!)