The fug

I’m in a bit of a fug. Post-holiday blues, I’m sure. I don’t want to be getting up in the cold dark and plodding off to the same office each morning. I don’t want the minutiae of my life to take over my thoughts and fug me up. But they are. Minutiae are fugging me up.

In between, I had a lovely weekend with coffee with my old besties, then some admin to ward off too much guilt, a lovely welcome back visit to the market with a bowl of delicious chorizo goulash soup and a glass of bubbles, the perfect combination. Who would’ve thought? Then a rugby beer (again, who would’ve thought?) followed by a surprising birthday party.

It was surprising in that it was a party at which I knew a little of the people well, a couple of people a little bit, and the rest not at all. I’d been daunted by the thought of them, they’re the ‘cool crowd’. I now know how to get over that: place yourself at the bar. It also makes for a cheap night out, as everybody who buys a drink buys you one too. I knew about it on Sunday morning.

While propping up the bar though, I made some new, fun, interesting and, do remember, ‘cool’ friends. Maybe I’m in the In Crowd now? Nah, who’m I kidding? It turns out that some of them are, well, quite cool, and I often forget to put myself out there meeting new people, especially as winter spits her cold breath on us.

Despite the fun that was had, I am still fuggy. Very much so. I want to write fun, happy, stuff, especially that chronicalling our Spanish adventures before the memories start to get buried under those minutiae again. I just don’t seem to have the energy. I just feel sad.