I feel a bit calmer today, and he does as well... Maybe it was just a bad night last night in general, and with the added stresses he's got and I've got, well maybe? I don't know.

He's off for four days. There's no point in trying to deny it, I'm looking forward to the chance to sort out my eating, not eat fatty things, have salads, and generally feel a bit more free... I know it's stupid of me, but at least I'm being bloody honest... I just want to restrict, restrict, restrict.

Oh and apparently my coil has gone walkabouts. FUCK. Off to quacks anyway, will try and get it sorted. I'm fucked if i'm pregnant. Better hope I'm not. Perhaps my boobs growth spurt was just a coincedence? Fuck, fuckity fuck. Fuck. I cannot be pregnant. Physically cannot. Like hell would 'I' support me. He'd just be there ready and waiting with the coat-hanger. Oh well, no point counting my chickens and they've hatched or whatever that saying is. Why do I always fuck everything up?