Happiness

So, life is improved, markedly, by going round to a mate's and having a jolly good moan. Or so it would seem. Yesterday Amber and I got a tiny bit maudlin by email, so after rowing, I mooched round, drank wine, sat out in her garden and she smoked umpteen cigarettes and I smoked one, and chatted endlessly about being single, never finding a boyfriend, and what is wrong with us. The answer, of course, nothing. Men are rubbish. Like, duh.

And somehow, magically, this made me feel so much better. Things are improving at work. The RSI is, I suspect, also home-based injury (another duh) and so I am going to have to learn some keyboard shortcuts so I stop spazzing my hand out using my mouse. But at work I now have my new mini keyboard, my separate number pad, and my vertical mouse. They are rocking and I love them. Actually, I hate them, the mouse buttons don't click very easily, but anything's better than lying in bed with a sore hand.

Feeling better about the man madness, too. Clearly I forgot my promise to self about the Long Game. Am going to stop freaking out and panicking and just enjoy crush. Emma blushed on my behalf yesterday when he walked into the kitchen and we were both in there, drinking hot water. I had to lead the way out. General work ambience has also drastically improved. Pod politics all round are on the up, people seem happier. Change is a-coming, and it's got to be for good. That's what I'm thinking. If only it didn't mean that people had to leave in order for there to be change. That sucks.

Gave Isa a lift to her own leaving do in Summertown this evening. All the way there, I ranted about us needing to find somewhere else to live, sooner rather than later. Bless her, she is much calmer about it than I am. But then we got to Summertown and the Summertown lust descended. Boutiques! Restaurants! Bars! M&S Simply Food! How could anyone resist the idea of living in Summertown?! Ahhh...

No other real news to report. I went out for my first author lunch at work today ever. Bearing in mind I've been in my job for nearly three years, that's quite rubbish. I don't get enough perks! But it was nice to get the chance to go. And one of my colleagues blatantly turned up in his interview suit today, but because he was wearing a black tie, people kept on asking him if he was going to a funeral. Emma actually emailed me to ask me if David was going to a funeral! Amongst the reasons he gave out were "a book has died" and "I'm going to a Reservoir Dogs party after work." Apparently, the crush believed that second. The twink!