Eighth Day

There will now be a brief pause in the wailing to acknowledge the brilliant people in my life, who have kept me sane in the last ten days. Those who contacted me last Friday with sympathy and understanding, and who have stood by me ever since. The friends who understand why I don’t want to talk to them because I was still too angry about what had happened, and get this because they’re feeling the exact same way.

You are all brilliant beyond words, and I thank you.

Then, there’s the Welsh Football Team.

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My husband reliably informs me that at one point in the game the Possession was 48/52 for Belgium, and that the Universe loves a sense of irony. Brexit metaphors are everywhere, still, but it is unlikely you will find a better summation of the last week than you can from Buzzfeed. Forget the mainstream press, you want the website that uses Twitter to write news stories. In the meantime, the football’s provided a much needed ray of sunshine, and a bunch of actual, genuine heroes. 

This country really needs heroes.

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There’s also a better than average chance this woman will be Prime Minister. You heard it here first.

Then, there’s the possibility I made a new friend. I let quite a lot slip, early on, and I’m not sure whether that was the right idea or not, but it is done now. I’m actually more nervous about this than I have been for anything else in a while. We will see how it all pans out soon enough.

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Finally, I managed to get something out of a video game I’ve been trying to obtain, on and off, for nearly six years. I realise this might make me more insane than I first realised. However, now I have it, I feel a sense of satisfaction I cannot remember experiencing for quite some time. I slept uninterrupted, and that’s not happened for some months. It could be that the hormonal stuff is finally coming under control, or there’s the possibility I’m finally letting shit go.

Your diagnosis may vary.