When I close the fridge door, my food has a party.

Alright, so its midnight and I'm more than a little worse for wear, having spent last night with Mystery and several bottles of wine. He had just gotten back in town and needed a friendly face, having just discovered his fuck buddy of over a year had been seeing someone else. I'm his tell-it-to-you-straight girl, which basically means I have carte blanche to point out in no uncertain terms exactly when and how he's being a cunt. So I found myself dribbling off the side of the bed into a strategically-placed plastic bag laced bucket at 2am, wondering how exactly I was going to explain to Darcy that I had to cancel our breakfast plans as I'd gotten hammered with my screwed up ex boyfriend and spent the night discussing, in great detail, what the sex was like with my current boyfriend. To be fair, I was very complimentary. Darcy is great in bed.

Anyway I managed to drag myself into work (got a great deal on some gorgeous Stella McCartney 'vegetarian' shoes. What the hell are 'vegetarian' shoes?) then met Pickled Lily and The Stig for a coffee and a drink before making my way to Darcy's for dinner. It takes me roughly an hour and a half to get to Darcy's on the bus (bloody London Transport makes getting south of the river near impossible at rush hour) so I usually get some good thinking time in, and get through at least half of my ipod 'Travelling Music' playlist. 10 minutes and several I Am Kloot tracks into the bus journey, my hand shot out and pressed the emergency exit button and I found myself jumping off the bus (ahh for the days of the Routemaster, when one could just flit in and out of buses willy nilly with none of this 'emergency button' nonsense). So I found myself in the arse-end of Kilburn High Rd, wondering why I'd just jumped off a bus - and wondering why I didn't know why I'd just jumped off a bus. And that's when I realised. I actually didn't know why I'd jumped off the bus. Seriously, I paused, I waited, I lit a cigarette, I looked around a little, but nothing. My thoughts didn't catch up with me. Or they ran away without me, or I left them on the damn bus or whatever. The point being, I'd just jumped off a bus for no apparent or emergent reason. It may sound like nothing, but I'm a born and bred London girl - bus and train journeys are more ingrained in everyday autopilot than brushing my teeth, so it shook me to the very bloody core! So I walked home, texted Darcy that I was still hungover and needed some couch time, and spent the rest of the night bemused and puzzled.

Ok so in re-reading that last paragraph, I realise I come off as a drama queen and a bit of a lunatic, but I don't know how to phrase it to correctly portray the Twilight Zone-esque unnervingness of discovering that when I'm not paying attention, my body veers off autopilot and just does its own thing, without consulting me! And now I feel like I'm waiting for that to happen again, like a child who thinks that when you leave the room your toys all come to life, or that when you close the fridge door all your food has a party. I keep trying to trick my body into thinking I'm not paying attention, so I can catch it in the act, you know?

..oh my god, I've gone fucking mental.
(I'm going to slowly back away from the computer, and blame the hangover.)