Just in case anyone's panicking that my life seems to be going well, don't worry; everything's absolute atrophying shit.
Most unpleasant is the overwhelming feeling of loneliness and isolation I've now got in my lovely new flat with friends who can't commit to come over.
Another couple however were coming to visit a few days ago, but oh brilliant! - I felt somewhat out of sorts on Friday afternoon, and went home from work only to spend the entire bank holiday weekend either shivering and wrapped up in a duvet, or else sweating like a thieving royal in a newspaper sting. And that's all I've done. I've not left my flat for three days. I haven't even opened the blinds. I've hardly eaten - which means I'm definitely ill. All I've been doing is sleeping, or sweating to Sky Fucking TV, meaning I'm slowly turning into a moron. I knew this was happening when I found myself riveted about a possum stuck down a drain.
I'm basically turning into one of those men that when my neighbours are interviewed by the news once the bodies are discovered, they'll rightly be able to claim, "He was a bit of an odd-ball".
But even without Manflu, my self-esteem over the last few weeks has been pretty dented. In fact, it's been imprisoned in an Austrian cellar by my lack of dignity and raped lots of bad vibes into my flat, and I'm struggling to keep my spirits up.
Basically, I removed my Indifferent Ex-Girlfriend from Facebook, and have been disappointed to see in the three weeks that have passed that she hasn't noticed, or couldn't care less. Frankly, either scenario really depresses me.
The only time where I felt alive recently was at a brilliant houseparty that was full of beautiful South American women. I talked to several who were good enough not to scream back in terror. By the time I left however, I was informed that one - since gone - was "Desperate for a shag, just at that particular moment, for one night only", and I had allegedly been in her sights. She had breasts and a pulse and everything. More in keeping with my success rate however, I spotted the last girl I'd been talking to in floods of tears by the time I said my goodbyes; probably relief that El Diablo was leaving.
And finally, I went to a barmitzvah which was loads of fun as my sister's going through a messy divorce, forcing me onto 'Brother-In-Law Watch', just in case he went ape-shit crazy or somesuch. I was even asked to be on standby to accost him if need be.
As it turned out, he was fine, but I wound up sweating profusely as I found myself in a room full of people I haven't seen for a good 15 or 20 years and, well, it transpires that I've turned shy. I think this is because I've got fatter, I'm 36 and still single, and I'm paranoid that everyone's judging me and assuming I'm gay. I'm also no great success in the career and general life department, so I had nothing to offer but awkwardness and sweat, forcing myself to be unnaturally polite which was at odds with my default position of offensive drunk.
You think with all this sweating, I'd have really good skin.
Coming up next: My inevitable suicide.