Home after a very boozy pub quiz and not feeling particularly competent at writing. I found out I’m not working on the get-out tomorrow in time to raise a fair few more glasses than I would normally raise on a Sunday and tomorrow can be a lovely carefree day of not taking up mouldy floors and not taking down mouldy ceilings.
But now I find myself having to write 500 words. Hmmm
I stayed up late because Kitcat was home after I got back and we ended up talking about tarot and next thing I knew I was doing a drunk reading for her. I think it’s given me a headache. It was that or the booze. It’s 1.40am. Damn. I haven’t been able to justify being an idiot for ages. It was past time, I guess.
Scene and Heard pub quiz. A very lovely charity and a good way of bringing kind people in the industry together. We made a good show of the pub quiz but we didn’t win anything. I was on a team with an old friend and an ex of many years past. It was good to remember how we can be friends. She has two kids now. Two. And she literally hasn’t changed one iota. I sat opposite her and felt simultaneously young and old. I wish we’d won the quiz, as we did so on an early date at The Dover Castle. Lots of lovely people at the table though and if only I hadn’t decided that getting blotto was the answer I might have had some better conversations than I did. Still. Apparently my tarot reading at home was helpful.. Small victories.
I’ll head onto site tomorrow and get back my wrecking bar and hammer and my impact drivers. I am very much more acquainted with my tools now, and will inevitably put them to good use again in the near future.
But now it’s bed. Bed bed bed oh bed. There’s a spot of casting to be done but I had the next two days marked out for work so it’s a shift to find I’ve got them to myself. If I don’t get to sleep soon though I’ll waste half of tomorrow, but maybe a lie in would be a good thing…
Kitcat keeps trying to talk to me through the door. She’s asking about her tarot reading because she’s sending a breakdown of it to her dad, who loves tarot. I literally haven’t the energy to explain how the deck I used is a heavily customised deck created by Alice Instone, and virtually every card of hers was one of the artist’s inventions and not included in the traditional tarot. If I’m reading drunk and tired it’s the only deck I know well enough that I can see it through the fug.
I still find it emotionally tugging to hang out with my ex. She’s still extraordinary.
I think it might have had something to do with why I had a spot too much to drink. Ah well… Night night.