The Hang-xiety Chronicles 1

I think I’d give my left leg and several of my fingers if it meant I would never experience the insufferable sensation that is ‘hang-xiety’ again. As I sit here writing this, my mind is beating at the speed of light, trying to remember exactly what I did last night. Not good.

Four things I regretted instantly when I woke up:

1. Texting a person instead of just airing the convo when my question was answered.

2. Apparently calling said person (although I don’t actually remember doing this).

3. Getting with my neighbour’s best mate in LA ROCCA.

4. Having to be patted to sleep by Rozzi as I texted her at an ungodly hour that I was about to be sick.

That third one is actually worth a special mention because there was so much wrong with it. Number one, I do not get with people in clubs. Not because I think I am profoundly superior to people, but because it makes no sense to me. In what way is a shitty, sloppy kiss, whilst you’re being jostled around like a limp fish, fun? I respect if you like that, but not quite for me. I left that behaviour in the dust when I was fifteen and a bit of a whore. I remember quite distinctly, though the “kiss” was genuinely the least memorable thing that I’ve ever done, Jamie (my neighbour) saying to the guy,

“You can’t do that, she’s my neighbour!”

This comment made me laugh to no end, even on the night, yet it still happened. Secondly, just seconds before, one of my ex-boyfriend’s friends comes up and says hi, just as the guy is pestering me to get a move on with the whole ‘leaning in’ thing. I complied, as one does when they’re four “mega-pints” of wine and six shots in. But, I did it right in front of her. As I’m writing this, literal jolts of “ick” are being sent up my arm. The whole thing makes me sick to my stomach. Especially as he’s in Hiatt Baker Catered apparently and I have no idea what he looks like.

I do love going out with my coursemates. There’s something about consuming so much with like-minded people that makes me very happy. For example, by the end of the night (in which, I truly realised how ‘gone’ I was) we began a philosophical debate. However, it just wasn’t a debate. We were literally just repeating each other’s points and agreeing with each other in slightly frantic and raised tones whilst labelling it a ‘debate’ to really play up to the University of Bristol Philosophy student stereotype.

All in all, I’m pretty sure nothing unforgivable happened last night. Nevertheless, I will be made to feel as if I have committed every mortal sin under the sun. It’s going to be a great Saturday!

Addition: I have checked through my phone and turns out I also direct messaged The Magaluf Weekender back saying I'd be on the show if they gave me "good incentives and free things". That's my one shot at fame over, cheers drunk Eleni.