Stone cold sober

I'm concerned.

No, scrap that, 'concerned' is too flimsy a word, I'm looking for a word that encompasses absolute panic.

I'm freaking out, that's probably a better phrase.

Why?

Vodka doesn't work.

When vodka doesn't work, you know you've got problems.

I suppose I should explain. 

My friend visited this weekend from Norway. It was great to catch up with her, and it was strange because it felt like she'd never been away, we seemed to slot back into our old roles like nothing had changed. That in itself was worrying. That sounds horrible I know, but it's not meant like that, what I mean is, it's been two and a half years, and nothing has changed. Now do you see why it's worrying?!

My friend has travelled and lived in Australia for a year, I haven't done much other than get my heart broken and decide I want to live in Turkey. I suppose you could say that's progress, at least I made a decision, and getting your heart broken is life experience, right?

So anyway, not much had changed. We went out for a drink, one drink turned into three pitchers, and before you know it, Nicky was a tad bit drunk. Yes, I know, it's easily done. However, this was a kind of drunk I hadn't experienced before, and to be honest, I didn't like it one tiny little iota.

I sloped off around 10pm (shameful, I know) feeling like someone had deflated all the helium out of my little balloon. It was like the world's biggest downer. I got the bus home, there I sat, all sorry for myself, bundled up in my coat and scarf, tears in my eyes, and an old man took pity on me and asked if I was okay.

What did I say?

'Fine, thank you'?

Nooooo.

'I don't knoooooowwwwww' was my wailing reply. 

The poor man looked like he'd wished he'd never asked and went back to reading his newspaper.

I have never felt more like I didn't belong, like I wasn't where I was meant to be, and like I was missing something.

It was horrible.

The worrying thing about all this is that I figured I feel so bad when I leave Marmaris/Turkey because I don't have much of a social life here, other than going to zumba and talking to my friends on the phone all night. If we're talking about going out on Saturday nights, well I just don't do it, because a) it's too cold, b) it's too expensive, and c) it's crap.

But anyway, I thought maybe a social life was the answer to my prayers. Turns out, it's not. Vodka is not my friend, going out makes me feel worse, and spending money means I have less to go to Turkey with. I've just got to make peace with the fact that I'm pulled to this place for a reason.

So what am I supposed to do? Be miserable for 46 weeks out of 52?

So I have been proactive, and developed a plan. Every girl should have a plan.

Give me a year, a healthy dose of luck (fingers crossed), and things will be looking much, much better, and I'll be situated in a much more easternly direction.

In the meantime, I'll be giving vodka a very wide berth indeed, because I was this close to grabbing an empty bottle, sitting in my PJs, and singing 'Allllll byyyyy myyyysellllllfff' a-la Bridget Jones, and that, dear readers, is never a good look, even for Renee Zellweger.

Technical gremlins ...

Life as I know it has ceased to exist ....

My iPhone has died.

It's a disaster on the same scale as the great Wispa shortage of 2008.

What's more worrying is that I actually felt a huge wave of panic when it dawned on me that I was going to be without that valuable lump of plastic for a few days. Seriously, I'm talking a million thoughts running through my head in way too short a space of time, like 'ohmygodwhatifsuchandsuchcalls' - the lack of space indicates that I didn't breathe either.

I've calmed down now, sort of.

Fingers crossed by 7pm on Saturday I'll once again be in possession of my hypothetical left arm, and life will once again be filled with mobile Viber, Facebook and Whatsapp. Phew.

It has got me thinking though, maybe it's just me and really I'm overthinking this completely, but the mass panic I felt for a split second is quite worrying. I mean, what did we do before mobile phones and social networking? We actually spoke to people face to face, do we do that much nowadays?

I suppose I'm at a bit of a disadvantage as a lot of the people I "speak" to on a daily basis aren't in face to face distance, be it a nearby town or halfway across Europe, so for that I have a good excuse, but my reaction was a tad extreme in hindsight. My first thought was that it would be sod's law that in the couple of days I was incommunicable, a message I've been waiting for beyond hope for a month now would appear and get lost in the ether of broken phones. It's not gonna happen, but it would be just my bloody luck for it to happen right at that moment.

I'm ever hopeful, you can't ever accuse me of pessimism.

So now I've stopped hyperventilating, I can concentrate, albeit with a slightly shaky hand thanks to going cold turkey from my beautiful sparkly, pink, phone, on my upcoming weekend. This weekend I will actually have a life. Yes, one of those things that everyone else seems to have but I only find occasionally. I think they call it a social life, but I can't be sure because it evades me somewhat.

My friend is visiting from Norway so I will be venturing out of the house and not returning until after curfew on not one, but two nights. Yes, I know, I'm a rebel. I also fully intend to get completely trollied on overpriced vodka, simply because I can. Yes, I know, I don't drink in this country, I save that gem for getting high-pitched in Turkey, but I ain't going easternly for another 8 weeks and this girl needs to be numb, forget, and to feel good for a few hours at least. There's been a few too many tears lately for my liking, it's time to smile a little, for one weekend at least - before I go back to being friend-less because everyone from the 'Shire has abandoned me. 

Happy days.