It is Wednesday. My head has a dull throb to it, like a post coital vagina, and my nose is still bleeding, like... oh, see above again. I'm not retyping it.
I am consequently debating the wisdom of snorting illegal crystalline tropane alkaloids up my nostrils. I have a libertarian attitude when it comes to drugs, but it has to be said that anyone indulging in any substance, be they cigarettes or alcohol or junk food or cocaine ultimately has some unresolved issues at their very core, a need to distance themselves from their existence and feel just a little bit better inside.
I'm pleased the heavy drinking is over - although I was on a Stag and these things have to be done, I'm told. I've smoked the two packs of Spanish Marlboros I brought home and - guess what? - I've just nipped outside for some British ones. I ran as quick as I could, in order not to scare any small children. My face has turned bright crimson, and is peeling heavily. I look like the Singing Detective.
I've also had to rejoin Facebook. I grew to loathe Facebook with its sheer time-wastery, but I need mobile phone numbers to stick into my new phone when I get one. And the first thing I saw when I rejoined was my Lovely American ex-girlfriend who had finally accepted my sign-up request of many, many months ago. She has some 130 friends now, and dozens of happy, smiley pictures of herself, pictures which - no doubt - were taken when I wasn't in her head to piss her off.
And I miss her like I'd miss my leg if it was removed - which is substantial missage. We had a brief online 'chat'. She seemed quite happy, rub-it-in-my-face happy, if I was being cynical, but it was nice to catch up. I noticed her status said 'Single', and I'm desperate to see her again. She knows this too, and I know that desperation is as attractive to anyone as a bleeding post-coital vagina.
I can't stay on Facebook much longer. If her status changes to 'In a relationship', I'm going to jump into the Thames with lead weights round my ankles. I'd like her to settle down with someone and be happy, but the idea of seeing it blossoming online and in front of my eyes will - what's the word? - fucking annihilate me.
Funny how someone can go from loving me and telling me so repeatedly to the point that I got scared off, to more-or-less hating me and "loving being single", as I was told ad nauseam.
Oh well, I hurt her, and now I'm hanging around to give her the opportunity to return the favour.
I am now sat at home trying to write my 'book'. It has taken me three days just to open the damn document, which I managed an hour ago. I can't look at it.
Instead, I'm blogging this. So much easier.
I went to the gym today, the first time since February. I then went home and had some mackerel and scrambled eggs with plenty of water. No drugs, no booze, and just the occasional cigarette to remind me I'm still alive (for the time being).
So that's that.
I have Hippy Dave's wedding this weekend, my 34th birthday after that (same day as the ex's), and another wedding with a speech I'll have to make and tremble through.
God, it's great to be alive, so very very very very motherfucking great.