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.