Crappy Little Day

Well that was a crappy little day.

I woke up late, and tired.  Drinking Red Bull and eating shit food from the off.

I’ve said it before, but being fat is the one thing guaranteed to make me miserable, and putting on weight when eating healthy and doing some exercise like I did at the weekend has triggered me off on a run of eating lots of shit – approx 4,000 calories a day.  As opposed to 1,500 a day last week when I was happy…or a least content.

So, of course I’ve put even more weight on and am even more pissed off – 3kg since Sunday.  There is no reversing this any time soon either.  I’m stuck in a bad pattern and it will take a few days to start reversing it.

I just about made it through the day despite being my frustration bubbling under the surface…I did nearly snap at someone at work which would have been terribly unfair of me…then I snapped on the way home with another fucking Metropolitan line delay.

So I bought some wine.

And then I burnt my dinner.  So I cooked twice as many potatoes to make up for it, and to make myself fatter.  Plus had a load of chocolate and will have some more.

And then I had yet more problems trying to set up this website that I am making for someone…who’s hosting company is just fucking useless.  But is so frustrating me.  I’ve wasted hours just trying to install WordPress on a server…it should take 5 minutes.  And this is over the course of two weeks.  I just want to get it finished so I can get the remaining invoice paid.  Not that I am going to be able to spend and enjoy the money as my shares are down.  Way down.

On my birthday they were £500 up.  Now I’m £600 down.  Most of it due to Donald fucking Trump.  Maybe they’ll go back up – they have done before, but they’ve never been this far down and market sentiment seems bad.  The economy really doesn’t look rosy.

I will need to recoup my losses somehow, so it may mean having to have a budget of £100 one month, just eat carrots and stuff like that.  No roast dinners.  I am going to have to start cancelling plans soon.  Bang goes the idea of going on holiday.  Not that I have anyone to go with anyway…though I’m kind of used to spending time by myself…I barely even spoke to anyone all Easter weekend.  I spoke to my parents on Friday, but the only other people I spoke to all weekend offered me a receipt.

Also I am fed up of working my arse off and still struggling.  I appreciate that I am not the only one.  I didn’t relax properly all weekend as I was worried about the website for the company I work for, given that we’ve had problems in the week before.  I was technically on call – though escaped until late evening on Monday without having to do anything but testing.

Maybe I need to find some new friends.  But I don’t have any time to spend with them anyway, as I need to spend my weekends working to make enough money.  And I don’t even bother trying with Tinder any more.

And then I’m nearly 40.  I have no house – never will own a house.  No girlfriend, no wife, no kids, very little pension.  I’ve barely seen any of the world.

I don’t expect sympathy – that would piss me off.  I appreciate that millions, if not billions of people across the world have things harder than me but that just pisses me off more because why can I not be happier?  Why am I not a source of joy?  People used to remark about how happy I was – granted some of them lived in Bracknell.  I don’t get that any more.  I don’t seem to laugh very often either.

I probably won’t sleep well tonight now, and I am not happy about my standard of English throughout this blog post.  It barely flows, the paragraphs are so simple in construction, though I guess it gets to my hidden raw frustrations and emotions more.

Or maybe it is just half a bottle of red wine talking.

There’s also a small chance that I may have fucked my liver up and will never be able to drink again.  I cannot see that being the case but it worries me.  As I don’t enjoy life enough without alcohol to give it up permanently.  I’m probably worrying about nothing here, but hey.

At the end of the day, to make the English fucking worse, I need to sort my financial situation out.  I feel significantly underpaid, and cannot keep working the longest hours I ever have, plus longest commute that I’ve ever had, at the lowest wage I’ve had in 10 years, whilst having to do work on the side at the weekend, and pretending that London is amazing even though I never have the time or money to do anything.  I’m fat, ugly, lonely and skint, I’m fed up of these short but increasingly frequent miserable bouts.  It all kind of swims around in the same dis-virtuous circles, as now I’ll be tired tomorrow and repeat the same circle of eating shit food, drinking Red Bull and feeling crap, put more weight on and be more pissed off.  At some point that will break, I’ll sort myself out then realise I’m skint and be miserable, then at some point start eating loads of shit again.

I was hoping to have a holiday in June but I guess I’ll just be repaying the money I lost on my stupid fucking investment.

At least I’m having a pie tomorrow night.

It seems like I’m always writing about being miserable, but a quick look at my recent posts suggests that isn’t the case.  Though I don’t actually post everything I write, believe it or not.

I’ll post something more cheerful next time.  Sorry.

(Visited 4 times, 1 visits today)

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *