So, it's New Year's eve. I've begun the day bracingly with a bout of crying (still rather in shock about what turns out to have been a big party last night), now me and my latent rage are going out to spend the day as planned with these 'friends' of mine. It's going to be great, I'm sure. Then the evening shall be the scary couples party so that I could escape before having to spend the New Year next to my ex. Not that he sees it as a problem - he's fairly jolly about the whole thing - he gets to see me occasionally without any emotional investment - basically been his aim for the past year.

I'm dreading the whole affair and if I had a flat of my own I think I'd go and spend the night in it with a bottle of whiskey. Anyway, I'm going to attempt to scotch the self-pity and total fury at the bastard, bastard Durham group ('we'll look after both of you' - bullshit) and also anger at Adam for expecting me to be so fine with my not being invited. And for then expecting hangover sympathy this morning. To  be fair, he's spent way more weekends with them than I have and would never normally have minded, but feels a bit different when Fish is invited, while I'm stuck in happy-couple-hell ("gosh, isn't it great how well-balanced our relationship is").

On the good side, a storm is actually brewing (what's that called - dramatic something - where the scenery mimics the characters' emotions), so I'm going to buy some breakfast and try to stop feeling so crap. It's one day and one night. I can do it. I feel like the little choo choo train from Dumbo. Here's hoping 'I-think-I-can' becomes 'I-thought-I-could' before too long.

Happy New Year, satsumas and black tea.