I should be just landing in Spain. I should be being welcomed with open arms by someone who couldn't wait to see me. I should be having fun with someone I grew to really care about.
Instead, I'm sitting on my sofa under a blanket with Fatman, freezing my tits off because I refuse to turn the heating on in June.
Yeah, I know. It's tedious isn't it? This will be the very last blog post on this subject. I can promise that. I suppose it's just because I would literally just be landing right now. And the thought of my empty Ryanair seat just makes me want to scream.
If I could have got at least some of the money back I wouldn't feel as stupid I think. But, despite repeated assurances, it hasn't happened. I shouldn't be surprised, obviously. And yet, even though I have a cynical and harsh exterior I do tend to assume most people are intrinsically good and kind deep inside, and that in situations like this that they would come through in some way to make it less horrible.
I guess today was my internal deadline to see if somehow the humiliation and sad would be helped in any way by at least the assurance that he cares enough to help me out with the cash. I may as well have taken £300 and burned it.
I've sort of always wanted to do that actually. Next time I meet someone I like I'll just go ahead and do that. Cut out the middleman.
I keep trying to twist this situation in my head to see the amusing side so I can blog about it in that way. But I just can't. It feels like shit.
However, as this is the weekend I should have been there, once it's over I'm sure I'll be feeling better about it. Put it all behind me. Write off the cash. Ignore the whole thing. Onwards and upwards. Etc.