Down the Rabbit Hole

I have no idea what that pill was that Roger gave me, but it most certainly wasn’t a sleeping pill. It was more of a clarity pill. I didn’t sleep a wink last night; I just lied there thinking about the last six months. I felt really detached, like I was reporting on an event.

For the first time I realised that all this mess, everything from the last several months, everything that has sent me over the edge, is my own fault. I should have contacted MNM when I got the acceptance letter for the placement; I should have come to Glasgow early and sorted out a proper flat; I shouldn’t have talked to TheBoy after I found out he was married; I should have never dated my lecturer in the first place; I should have never dated my boss either; I should have started applying for jobs ages ago; I should have acted like a responsible adult; I should have never just assumed that everything would fall into place. 

God, it’s hard to come to terms with one’s own idiocy. It’s so much easier to say, ‘It’s not my fault. It’s not my fault I got scammed on a flat. It’s not my fault my flatmates were involved with gangsters. It’s not my fault my boyfriends are all cocks. It’s not my fault, it’s not my fault.’

At about 5am, I decided to get something to eat, and HarryPotter heard me stirring about. He couldn’t sleep either. We both sat down at the kitchen table with a bowl of cereal. He was the first to speak and it was like he read my mind, ‘Don’t leave. We’ll just make sure to not open the door without asking who it is. The door to the office is locked. You’ll be fine.’

I just said, ‘Yeah. I’m sure I will be.’ But that was a lie. I may have suddenly been gifted with chemical based clarity, but it didn’t erase my fear. FringeSisterHusband did not seem like the type to go away. I told HarryPotter this.

He mentioned that I’d be going to Pitlochry this weekend. I’m leaving tomorrow morning. That perhaps I could go a day early. That perhaps he could come with me. Going a night early wasn’t a bad idea, but perhaps I should go alone. This weekend was about work. It isn’t about me being on the run. No, I’d go away to Pitlochry, and while I’m there decide if I should leave Glasgow or run the risk staying here for another month.                                                  

The pills wore off about 7am, and I could have slept the sleep of the dead. I was so tired, but had to be at work at 9am. I soldiered on, but have struggled to keep my eyes open all day.

All the self awareness of the night before had its toll on my nerves. I could not help but think about the thug, which made me think about going to London. Which made me think about finding work after the placement. Which made me think about the recession. Which made me stress about the pile of work Boobs had given me. Which mad me stress about the fact I was not doing the work Boobs had given me, because I was too stressed over my future. I really wish I hadn’t flushed that extra pill down the toilet. I could have used it.

I found this Guardian article, which certainly did not ease my nerves. This placement may have been a massive waste of time; this placement may in no way help me get a job. But rather than get sad faced, I was determined to turn things around. I was am going to MAKE this placement beneficial to my CV. I was am going to work hard and I AM going to focus.

I pulled the internet connection out the back of my computer and soldiered on with the editing work Boobs had given me. It’s amazing how much you can get done when you don’t have the internet to wreck your concentration. Despite nearly needing to force my eyelids open with sellotape, I got so much work done, and by three o’clock I needed a break. I went and asked Boobs if I could go over to Pitlochry early. She said that she didn’t care what I did after work, but MNM wasn’t paying for an extra night hotel.

I put the internet connection cord-thingy back into the computer and got the number of the hotel I’m staying at on Friday and Saturday night, and I made a reservation for tonight. No problem, and it wasn’t too expensive.

On the way home HarryPotter asked if I’d ‘feel better if he came along to Pitlochry.’ Just incase I ‘was still nervous.’ I think he was nervous to be in the flat this weekend, but I told him that I needed to do this on my own. He made an offhand comment about needing to visit his parents anyway.

I’m in Pitlochry just now, in this beautiful hotel. It’s a dead long walk from the train station, and right up the top of this bloody great big hill, (Why is it every time I go away, my accommodation is at the top of a hill?) but the hotel is amazing. I’ll have to look into the history, but it looks like a converted castle. There are antiques everywhere, and my room is done like a palace: heavy drapes, patterned wall paper, a heavy oak bed.

I’ve brought work with me, which I’m determined to do. There’s a pool here and breakfast is included, so I’ll get up early, go for a swim and then have breakfast before walking over to the Festival. But just now, I’ve got lots of editing to do for work. That is, if I can keep my eyes opened.


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