I'm not going to lie...

I'm having an awful week. One of those weeks where you literally cannot wait to go to bed so you can dream of a day less stressful than the last.
In the past few days I have been so caught up with things that I have topped my levels of insanity. Yesterday I boarded a piccadilly line train, panicked thinking I was going the wrong way so got off only to realise I was actually on the right train in the first place and because of my hasty exit had to wait another ten minutes for the next train.
I then decided to try to fix my fan. I think the wire between my brain and my body has been cut because without thinking properly I lurched my finger towards the blade and sliced my thumb. Ow. The day before I decided to go to the cashpoint and strolled along daydreaming, only to realise from sniggers behind me that I was trying to withdraw cash from a post box. Oh dear.
The past few days were spent confined in a teaching room whilst I decided to brush up on my technological skills. I turned up thinking that I would be around like minded writing souls who would love my choice of visiting the local pub garden for lunch. I was VERY much wrong. I was the youngest by twenty or so years. And trust me being the youngest has its problems, I soon became the 'fast learner' of the group, and sitting in a room without air conditioning surrounded by five middle aged redundant women as they asked me how to centre their text box nearly killed me. If that was not enough I then was forced to listen to a newly divorced woman who had just been made redundant from her high publication job and was now thinking about working in Tescos. Wow definitely the news I need to hear when in the midst of graduating.

It all seemed to be going a little pear shaped- did I mention I also had to take a friend to A&E ?(for no fault of my own but that can't be good, and there are no fit doctors in the UK. ER lied- bastards.) Until today.

As if an omen England finally got their act together and won a game, I boarded my train at Kings Cross without fuss or delay, I was told I was beautiful by some strange man (normally the pepper spray has come out but when you're having a down week the strange foreign man with no teeth is a highlight) and my favourite song came on the radio. I popped into my local to see a friend who had moved abroad for the last year or so. Immediately I was told stories about our times at university and just had to smile. 'Remember the time when we went to that bar and popped outside for a cigarette and that random woman tried to kiss me?' or 'Do you remember that time when we had a fight and you got so upset drunk that you ran down the street in your towel to talk to me'. It was on this that my friend Fleur ran into the pub carrying flowers. Running towards me she pressed them into my hand, 'I know you've had an awful week and decided that someone should buy you flowers. I know your favourite are orchids but I wanted these to match your room.'
I could have cried. It is most definitely about the small things. (and no that was not meant to be read dirtily thank you very much!)