I Won't Say I'm In Love

Had a bit of a brave today folks...spurred on by yesterday's attempts at being a little less defensive about shit? Oh fo sho...!

I mean...my day didn't exactly start bravely. It sort of started with me crying. On the Jubilee line. Because someone offered me their seat. I know what you're thinking - it's a slow start, Lexx...where are you going with this? Well, the problem was I didn't really know where I was going with it. I felt rubbish this morning, panicky and then annoyed at myself for feeling panicked about nothing.

Then the tube got delayed, as is its wont, due to a train getting sick at North Greenwich or something shabby along those lines. Getting delayed along different lines wouldn't have affected my day at all. Feeling a bit dizzy on the train I decided to just squat down a bit and get my head together - within about 3 seconds someone had asked if I was ok and someone else had given up their seat.

They say Londoners are mean and just stare straight ahead of them? Well, of course they do if there's no reason to strike up a conversation. Who goes into a pub anywhere and just sits down with randoms for a drink? But when there's a problem, I think London folk are mighty cool. And I showed my appreciation by bursting into tears like a proper lemon.

By the time I got to work I was starting to look like I'd let Helena Bonham Carter star as me for the day.

Enough is enough.

I solved a few issues in my mind, listened to a shed load of Disney and some 90s tunes, got a lot of it stuck in my head to hum through The King's Speech which I went to see today.

And then my phone beeped...was it a message from the man of my dreams? No.

Return of the ex. (Sing it to the tune of Return of the Mac and it's quite funky). Out of the blue he's apparently back in the country for a bit and wanted to say hi. I'll admit, this caused a brief chink in my 'I'm a rock hard fucking iron woman' mood...until I deleted the message and carried on with my day. Turns out all it took was a well placed cigarette and some damn fine acting from Mr G Rush and I'm perfectly capable of going about my day.

Came home, ate gnocchi (terribly significant) and thought about where to go next. Where to go next? Naturally it will be to track down said man of my dreams and tell him he is the subject of some dreams of mine. Will he be pleased? Probably not. But who gives a damn, at least for the next 50 minutes I am superwoman. After that it's tomorrow. And anything could happen.