Here’s a lesson for you all. If you’re planning on moving house on a hot summer’s day, it’s probably a good idea NOT to drink nearly four bottles of bubbly the night before. Yes sure, it’s fun at the time, but you’ll pay for your happiness. What makes yesterday’s hangover even more infuriating is that everyone else there wrote gleefully about not having one.
But my (now ex) flatmate J’s 30th party was good. Hubrettes in attendence included Jess, Jessie, Jimmy and Joel. In fact, that was all the Hubrettes. Karen was also there for a while, but she left pretty early. We mostly sat in the garden and talked. Once everyone had left I wandered down the road to another party by myself, where I danced for ages. Then I wandered back home and danced for ages. The vibes at the two parties were totally different, which was interesting. I felt like I was on a very very mild trip, it was grand. Then when I checked the time it was 4.30am, so I went to bed, despite the noise, and turned off my tv sometime after 5am. I nearly saw the sun rise.
Stupid fucking sun. SO HOT. Moving is horrible. Sebastian being freaked out by being put in the van is horrible. Having to get up before 8am is horrible. Reconciling to the fact that I’m now living with my parents again is pretty horrible, because it makes me feel like I did NOTHING last year, and accomplished nothing. That’s never cool.