I'm afraid. You know that kind of hysterical fear that makes you giggle a lot, despite your perfect grasp of the situation's gravity? Except it isn't an immediately clear situation, so I'm just spending much of my time giggling and brushing my teeth. I'm scared that I've messed up - made some choices with a selfish outlook, and I'm scared how they're going to affect others. And this could have been avoided - my guilt, the other person's exacerbated existential crisis - if I'd just... not said anything. There was no need to. I'm a fucking idiot.
I have a dental checkup tomorrow... I'm really nervous. It would be just my luck/God's sense of humour/the bitch that is karma if the only part of my body about which I'm secure has to be chained in braces for the next forty years.
On a happier note, the dramatic society have approved the script for the pantomime that I wrote for them! It's going to be performed this December, and I'm delighted. The guy who told me, the chairman or whatever, called earlier tonight and said gruffly that it's "better than he thought it was going to be". He only properly praises stuff that children have done, so I suppose I should be glad he takes me seriously enough to reward my work with nothing but a backhanded compliment.
Ordered The Portrait of Dorian Gray from Amazon earlier. Excited! I'm ready to be mentally improved! I read the preface earlier from a battered copy I found in the library, and already I feel more profound.
My forty-second birthday falls on a Saturday. This pleases me.
Along with giggling and brushing my teeth, recent days have found me curled in bed with the curtains shut in the middle of the afternoon, watching episode after episode of Torchwood. It was pointed out to me yesterday that, no matter what you look like, what you've done or who you are, Captain Jack Harkness still wants to date you. But not as much as he wants I want him to date Ianto.
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