Freshly pressed

Weekend…

I have over estimated my walkability which hit me hard during last night. Was dying slowly from hangovers and to feet in pain, with absolutely no help from painkillers. But then, in the darkest hour, (that would be around 10.30) a colleague enters the room, all tan and vacation like. And says “Hey, should I cover the rest of your shift?” And I regained my belief in miracles. Amazing.

The hangovers were from a reunion with my bests of ladyfriends who had just returned from a weeks vacation on Rhodos. (No comments). It was a celebration with wine and liquor, and somehow the clock was 6 before my eyes were unable to stay awake. It was great. Love how time doesn’t have an affect on important friendships. (No, it was more than one week, that we had seen eachother).

Hm. Has been lulled back into a relationship with ex. Don’t know what to make of it. Best friend H says it’s a need for comfort and security. I agree but there is just something more than this as well. But we both know it’s a matter of time before we will fuck things up yet again, and have to seperate in tears and pain. But the good before the bad is just so heavenly good. And I have a feeling that sometimes it just gets too boring to make all the right decisions. I want to push myself towards an egde, just to see what happends. Selfdestructive or just curious?

No more love talk. Got photo shoot in a few hours. Filled with a bit of regret and a bit of excitement. It is a wierd place to be among strangers family and intimate moments. Flie on the wall. With a lens.

Worked out contract for Naked. Starting the 29th at 9.15. Boom.

Must enjoy the last “vacation” time. Which reminds me that A is moving in with his bf untill they find a place of their own, which makes me this time, NOT homeless, but with a unfurnished apartment. Sigh. Need to win money soon. Or that a family member die and leave money. Grandma, that’s you honey. Just think about it, is all I’m saying.

Gotta end this up, get out of this bed, leave the sick and poor ex to himself and go nurse my other love of my life, who is hungover at our (her) apartment.

C’est la vie.

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