Sunday mornings

Dearest

I love Sundays, especially when its bright and sunny outside. I love to just open my blinds and lie stretched out on my bed and let the sun wash over me. Its warm and bright, and makes you believe the world is this perfiect place, nothing bad or dark can exist there. So why is it, on this bright shining day am I lying in bed thinking about the remedies suggested for depression? The professionals always suggest you should exercise if you feel depressed. Bit patronising, and slightly redundant, don't you think? The last thing you feel like doing, when you wrestling with the temptation to bring forward your meeting with your maker, is go out for a jog. When I feel that low I barely have the energy to roll over in my bed, let alone play a game of tennis. I suppose there is some logic to it, nobody feels their best and brightest when their digestion is sluggish. Even so, I'm always reminded of that Senakot advert from a few years back, where the women in the office is all tired and mopey, then the day after taking the pill she's bouncing around (with suspiciously shiney eyes) drumming on the furniture and fixtures. Maybe that's all I need, maybe there is a quick fix pill for it after all. Laxitives, get happy, and a rhythm.

Or maybe I should just let myself have a lie in. I have no idea why I set my alarm for 8am for a Sunday morning. It's just cruel and unusual torture, even if I did go to bed at 11 last night. I don't sleep the full 8 hours as it is, even when i do go to bed early enough. Only very do I sleep through the night without waking up at least 3 or 4 times. Should just let myself lie in, that way I'd be more awake and wouldn't end up doing the mindless student thing....

yes, yesterday I joined the ranks of Mindless Students, I lost my phone. I got it back, and it wasn't really my fault as it fell out of my bag, so I'm only an honourary member. Me and Jiffy were discussing it last night after the retrieval operation (i.e. he asked at the bar and I crawled under the tables) and we decideda pub was the safest place to lose your phone. In our considerable experience, as in Jiffy's considerable experience, you can always get your phone back from a pub. Not so when you drop it in a a mug of coffee or, in Escape's case, a toilet. To be fair Escape's phone did still work for about 2 months afterward, if a little temperamental.

But, back to Sunday. No, back to last night, as that has seemed to cause the tensions of this Sunday. The Boy stayed over with my housemate (let's call her H1) last night, no hanky panky so I've been told, but he still managed to bang his head against the wall repeatedly. This woke up my other, very tired, housemate (H2). I heard H2 moving about upstairs, and going downstairs to watch telly after the other 2 got back, because she couldn't sleep. She was very annoyed this morning, quite rightly so I feel. H1 has taken it to heart, possibly a little too much, she thinks its the end of the world and H2 is going to hate her forever and never forgive her. I told her she was being melodramtic. Everyone gets cranky when they've had no sleep, and feels better and less irritable when they have regained the lost slumber hours. Problem is H1 hates making mistakes, she jokingly says she never makes them, not yet getting over her native naivety of life. She just needs to chalk it up to experience, these things happen and its not the end of the world, the more it happens the easier it will be for her to deal with it in the future when she's actually in the world and she makes real mistakes. She just needs to apologise, in person, possibly the chocolate she's out buying at the moment is a little overkill, and don't do it again in the future. Make sure the strange boy she is dating stops causing himself a brain hemorrage. And all will be well in the house of sunny Sundays.

Right now I can't think about melodramas or sunshine, I need a shower if I'm ever going to get to the Belgium's in time to start making bread. Its becoming a weekly ritual. I'm becoming very domestic, baking bread, croissants and iced buns. And pizza, how could I forget the pizza? Going to teach them how to make pizza from scratch, like-ah the Italians-ah make-ah, except without the spinning up in the air or, like-ah the movies-ah make-ah, it will end up stuck to the ceiling, to land on someone's head at an unsuitable (but undeniably funny) moment. Yes I do have the maturity of a 4 year. Deal with it.

Enjoy your shiney Sunday mornings people, more fun than the senna I'm sure, I'm going off to get covered in yeast and tomatoes etc.

All my love