Pyjama Day

Not my actual pyjamas, of course, that wouldn't be appropriate for the office. But the outfit I am wearing as as close as my business clothes come to being pyjamas - black trousers and this crazy, stretchy patterned dress that my mother hates and told me not to bring with me.

She says it is unflattering and makes me look pregnant - I know it is a good pregnancy dress, because I sold it (well, not this dress, its twin, obviously) to a pregnant Muslim woman who wore it over her maternity pants...she changed into it in the store, and she was so adorably cute I wanted to squeal. By some fluke, her plain hijab matched the red in the pattern, and she was one of those glowing pregnant women who make carrying twenty pounds on their stomach look like no big deal.

I digress.

The point is, the dress may not be flattering, but it is super-comfortable, and reminds me of a nice person who was looking forward to an amazing moment in her life. Wearing this pyjama-like dress is like putting on a hug and wearing it all day.

I had a bad night. My hair is falling out and my skin is flaking off, I have a headache that won't go away, and my very nice neighbour asked me (earlier in the day) how I was doing, lonely-wise, and last night I just fell apart.

I've been stressed about work, and I put my elbow through my brand-new couch (long story), and I miss my best friend and my cats and my mom, and I don't have a phone yet, and e-Harmony keeps mailing out these emails about finding love over Valentine's Day, and I wonder if I jumped too far with my eyes closed...

Night is the worst time. I can keep myself busy enough during the day that there isn't time for navel-gazing, but there's not enough to distract me at night.