I'm feeling a bit cross with myself and guilty today.
Last night I was supposed to be attending a friend's Big Brother BBQ at 8pm. But by 8:15 I was still wearing my pyjamas and throwing homemade spaghetti bolognese down my throat. "At the end of the first half", I thought to myself, "I'll go to the party."
The first half ended. I was still wearing my pyjamas. I wore them through Eat Out Of Tin Cans (but I didn't watch it because Jimmy Carr's face gives me uncontrollable rage blackouts). The second half began. I was still wearing my pyjamas. I decided that the party obviously wasn't going to happen for me, so texted the hostess to try and explain my absence.
The best I could come up with was: 'Hi. Haven't got money for meat or booze and can't get lift in. Sorry. Xx'
Even reading that back to myself now I am squirming with shame. And I wrote it. Fucking terrible.
You see I really did want to go to this party, honest. I just couldn't be bothered to move, wash, put makeup on, do my hair, leave the house and talk to people. And I knew if I went I'd spend at least £5 on cigarettes and Lambrini, and I definitely cannot afford to lose £5 at the moment.
I watched the final and then went to bed with a cup of tea and read Mrs Dalloway. I was asleep by midnight.
I am dreading seeing all my friends next week, because they'll all tell me off for being lame. But I guess I could use the now tried and tested method of staying in and hiding and hoping everyone goes away and leaves me alone. Poverty has made me so antisocial.