wattle

well, no life coach. as my grandfather has famously said (and perhaps he wasn't the first?) everyone fucks up their life in their own way. too true.
balint sprang it on me at literally the last minute (i was in coat and boots) that i'd have to pay but he didn't know how much. of course i had anticipated some kind of financial deal, but it made me feel like he was going to go off with his old flattie, learning to conquer the universe or whatever their deal is because one is never really told; there are hints, and they are confusing, shady and therefore sinister.
so i said, no life coach. i thought mate if you want to go with your mate that's cool but don't palm me on off someone for money and call it help. we didn't even talk about it beforehand.

when he left i cried and smoked shaky cigarettes. and then i found an english speaking counsellor, right here in izabella utca. i'm calling him tomorrow.

the day was crap. sad and heavy and thick with sunshine that should have made me happy. i bought a pair of timberland shoes, very hot! and a big rubber gymnastic ball that will surely give me a six pack?!

am now off to see a film, and then bedsleepmonday