Friday, Jun. 29, 2007...11:30 pm

Five years

I've got a headache. I'm having a very odd sort of week. Tomorrow is the 5th 'anniversary' of the accident which killed my mum. The fifth. That seems like such a long fucking time that every time I think that I have to count off all five in my head to check as it doesn't seem possible. How could this happen?
Through the AD's genious planning of flights whilst flustered at work he's not flying back in from a conference in Vermont untill the very early hours of Sunday morning. I been on my own since Saturday last week. Not a big deal, but what a week. Let's recap, just the major news items firstly:
Half the country is under water
We have a new Prime Minister
Smoking is banned tomorrow
... and oh yeah, some fuckers tried to blow up London again and only failed thanks to shear luck. Brill. (the worst thing about this for me is not one of my ruddy family has even bothered to call me today, not one. Even though I called my dad especially from work and left a message on his answer phone becuase I knew he'd be in pieces if he tried to call and couldn't when they'd shut the mobile network down temporarily.)
Yesterday I got up at 6am and treked across London to the passport office in Victoria only to be told that my application wasn't right because my boss was too much of an arse to fill in his countersignatory properly. After a crappy day at work in which I achieved bugger all accept a neuron prep I came home to find that the cocking ruddy builders had ripped out my bathroom with out so much as a by-your-leave and left the debris on the furntiure in the living room. Fucking A. They we're supposed to be coming to look at whether the damp situation had improved at all, clearly they felt that as it hadn't the best option was to rip the bathroom out without warning or first making any enquiry with the people that actually live there if it was a good time or not. So last night I cleared up after the builders and recovered my living room from the rubble. You'd think if they were gonna trash your house they could put a dust sheet down. I'm so sick of these fuckers that I can't bring myself to go into the backstory at this moment in time.
So tomorrow. The AD is away and I couldn't stand the thought of facing the day alone. The day has an apauling track record in general with the major exception of last year when the AD flew me out to Italy to meet him. The slight snag of having to fly out on my own was pretty scary, but hey. My friend Kate offered to take me away for the weekend to stay with her parents and I'm going but I'm more nervous than I can admit to her about sitting in the passenger seat while we drive to York. Not that I'd be any better driving, but it makes me feel a bit queesy, especially with all this whether. I was thinking about pulling out but the lack of a bathroom made that decision for me.
All this means I won't be here when the AD fly's back in which also makes me queesy. To point where I've just sat down and written him a letter for him incase anything happens - how fucking irrational is that?

Urgh.

I can't write anymore, writing about it is making me feel worse just now.