Maybe Tuesday Will Be My Good News Day

I've taken a vow of silence this week. Let's just say life on the domestic front is less than perfect. Ms Thing has been asked to leave the building and I have agreed to do so. However, I don't wish to talk to anyone. In short, I haven't been having a good time of things emotionally which has translated to 'bad housemate' therefore the problem must be removed. So, I'll stick my stuff in storage at the end of July and then fuck off to Sth America. Three weeks of tango,drinking,sight seeing,afternoons in Cafe Tortoni and mass consumption of beef should see me through. I guess I'll be a vagrant on my return until I find somewhere decent to live. This share house caper is -as the Yiddish say- for chumps. I went back to it as a way of not being insular and hermit-like but in all honesty, it's driving me straight back to medication. Or the bottle... mmm alcohol! I'll get out of this funk but it's just that life is sucking big meaty one's at the minute. I'm actually finding some solace and clarity in my silence. I'm looking forward to living alone again if the truth be told. I'll be poor but at least I'll be happy. No more living with petty bullshit and anal retentive ways. I love my organised chaos and my sometimes burst of obsessive tidying where I'll spend a day cleaning and tidying absolutely everything which may include vacuuming out drawers... yes be afraid, be very afraid. Just read my horoscope in the Age that tells me tonight is a good night for cleaning out my cupboards and not to think about romance of any kind. **Queue Twilight Zone music*** (oh yes and why would I think of romance of any kind? Are you winding up, Virgo?). So, apologies for this kind of downer post. I promised myself I wasn't going to spill forth my surgery scarred guts on blogs anymore but this one has been oddly healing. Anyway, let's leave on a positive note- here's me drinking to me;

Margarita with a Margarita