dick

So look, I’m back. I have a good excuse. I have had a friend staying with me, as she’s going through some relationship troubles. And that’s fine, and she’s welcome to stay, and angst and belabour and micro-analyse as much as she pleases. Lord knows I’ve done it to her. But, see, there’s nothing I can really say. I can’t say, “he’s a dick,” even if he is being a dick. (And he is being a dick.) Because she doesn’t want to hear that, really. Well, she does, but then if she decides that he’s worth a second chance (actually, third chance) (see? he’s a dick) to try to work it out, she’ll know I said he was a dick. So I can’t really say that. (But, for the record, he IS being a dick. In fact, a total dick.) So all I can really say is soothing platitudes like, “you’ll figure out what you need to do,” and “take all the time you want,” and “just because he’s sprung all this on you at Christmas when you’re supposed to be going away on holiday together doesn’t mean he’s a dick” (YES IT DOES), and so on. Exhausting. And it’s not even me with the dick problems. So to speak.

In other news, we bought a table which we don’t need and won’t even fit in our house. I despair sometimes, I really do.