Stained, Tired - Line Them All Up

I woke up this morning feeling like a small piece of poo that had somehow managed to fool the world into letting it live as a human up until this point. A poo that wears pyjamas and has a job (kind of), but that has had her true poo identity revealed on this unassuming Saturday morning. Waking up feeling like a masquerading poo that has been outed is not the sort of way I wanted to wake up this morning.

For one, I'm not going to drink red wine again for a while. It is too tiring to have to wake up and remember why you feel like faecal matter. Rewinding a few hours back to Friday evening, it would appear I left work booking stuff and went straight to the pub without having any dinner in between. This, was a mistake. Last night was the sort of night where you're drunk before you've even realised you have a drink in your hand. Not good.

Fast forward a few hours and you will see a very damp faced version of me bawling my eyes out alone on the DLR going to Bank. Why I went to Bank I do not know - I live nowhere near Bank and it's certainly not convenient. But hey ho, no one was going to argue with me last night. Have you ever tried to reason with a soggy panda faced woman who is melodramatically declaring that she is tired of living her life? Certainly no one tried last night.

Why was I crying? It's difficult to say exactly. I believe at some point in the evening I decided the world sucked and that there was nothing any of us could do about it. While I was drinking in the pub with lovely people, this was not a problem... but apparently the walls of the world caved in when I bumped into TFL. I'm very rarely a dismal drunk but I think perhaps had someone offered me a sandwich board with "The End is Nigh" last night I'd have happily jumped into it and started banging people over the head with my handbag.

To make matters worse I also seem to have left my dress on the train I was washing from the inside using eye juice. I'd like to clarify that I didn't lose the dress I was wearing - there wasn't much chance anyone was going to try and jump my bones whilst I was doing my impression of Liza Minelli on a bad day - it was a dress I had with me in a carrier bag. And it is not anywhere in my room this morning. To be honest, I'm pleased that I even got myself back to my room last night so I suppose we should maybe be grateful for small miracles. I hope whoever has found my dress is going to go on a super mission to get it back to me. I hadn't even worn it yet.

Thankfully the flow of tears and my apparent despair at being so sad had gone by the time I got up this morning. I had an awful lot of text messages asking if I'm OK. It's difficult to know what to reply in all honesty... I'm not sure whether to ask them what I was so upset about or whether that will make me look a little crazy.

"Hello, thanks for being so supportive last night. I was just feeling really down... erm, what was I down about? No, it's not that I was being characteristically melodramatic and predicting the end of the world unnecessarily... it's just that I'm surprised the tears weren't actually red wine..."

I hope nothing awful happened to me that I've now forgotten about. It would be terribly sad if I'd seen a puppy get kicked and have now conveniently forgotten. Although, I will be less annoyed about having lost the dress and ruined my pillow cases (they now resemble a mascara Rorschach test) if I had been very sad about something meaningful. I'm beginning to doubt that this is the case though... I think it might be safest to assume I am just a liability and should never be allowed to combine alcohol, a phone and my mouth.

This is why I drink tea. I have never, ever cried my eyes out all the way home because I've had too much tea. Tea is the way forward...