600

A special day today for two reasons - this is my 600th LLFF, and secondly, today is my final day of being 32. So, a moment's silence to witness the occasional intestinal gurgle and reflect on the recent past. 32 has been a good age. A transitional age, in parts, but good all the same. No broken bones, a few briefly broken hearts and a bit of dented pride, but healthy, happy, older, a bit wiser and not much fatter. I feel good things about 33. Plus I'm excited about having a birthday, it feels like ages since my last one. Anyone needing my address for a generous gift should send me an email requesting such - you'll be staggered by the alacrity of my response. Or if you want to meet up in person to hand over my miniature pony, that will also be fine - I'm busy but I'll make time.

Still feeling the after-effects of Sunday night's unexpected drama - the butterflies are calming but the tight throat sensation is still hovering and I'm getting a bit fed up of being someone who always has something to complain about. Maybe this is what people do when they aren't looking for dates to go on. They get ill and then moan about it. Frankly, novel and unquestionably pleasant though it's been to have gone nearly three full weeks without being knocked back by an actual man, if the alternative is feeling like my windpipe has been exchanged with one from an organ-donating mosquito, I think I'd rather revert to type.

I say 'actual man' because my brain doesn't love me enough to spare me 100% of possible pain, so while my days have been rejection-free, my nights have been full to the brim with unpleasant dreams of thwarted romances and fictitious but nonetheless humiliating dumping incidents. Some have been unsubtle and heinous, others more veiled, where I'm abandoned in a variety of ways by friends or previously unheard of family members. I know we're all our own worst enemy but it is irritating to be quite such a walking cliche. No idea why I'm paying for therapy - a spaniel could analyse me. Head tilt. Woof.