I don't miss the sex.

I realised the other day - I genuinely don't miss it. I thought by now, after six weeks, I'd be squirming and antsy and desperate to give my booty buddy a call. But no. I haven't stopped giving myself a treat every now and then, but to be honest the thought of having to de-fuzz myself and get dressed up and act all sexy and contort myself into different positions while some guy tries and fails to start my car...I just can't be bothered (to clarify, in the past that was my idea of a perfect Saturday night). These days I'd rather have my bed to myself and get a decent night's sleep.

Can't decide if I'm getting old, or if I'm finally growing up.

Arsehole.

Hello, Ex In Australia Who I Haven't Seen Since 2004.

Yes, I still have a soft spot for you. And you know that. So why do you think it's fair to start texting me, asking if I remember all the "good times" we had together? Obviously I remember them, you fucked me to within an inch of my life and you know it. Then you start pestering me to send you a photo. We already did that, remember? If you've thrown them out, that's your problem.

Oh, I'm sorry, what's that? You're at your own bachelor party?

Fuck you. You're 32 dude, time to grow the fuck up.

I hope you and She will be very happy together.

Mother Issues

I have issues with my mother for many reasons, which hasn't escaped the notice of my therapist - every session gets reverted back to her sooner or later. One slightly trivial grumble I had with her until recently was the fact that she wouldn't let boyfriends sleep in the same room as me when they came to visit. This isn't such a big deal since I went back to uni, because obviously I'm not under her thumb there, but I'm having to move back home for the summer and it got me thinking.

The rule is simple and rigid: no sharing a room until you're engaged, and even then it's not guaranteed. Patently unfair, especially since pretty much everyone I know has been allowed to shag their boyfriend in the comfort of their own bedroom since the dawn of time. But my mother's devoutely Catholic and she will not allow me to fornicate while she's under the same roof.

However...

When I was going out with my last boyfriend, about two years ago, he lived a fair way away and we both had jobs so we could only see each other at weekends. And more often than not, on the weekends he came to stay, my mum would arrange for her and my dad to spend at least one night at their friends' house. It was never explicitly stated: "While I'm not here, feel free to fuck him six ways from Sunday in any room you choose". But clearly she knew that was what was going to happen, and I guess that was her stamp of approval, in an abstract way.

She was a touch wild as a teenager, from what I can gather, and I'd like to think she hasn't forgotten how you feel when you're in your late teens and early twenties - all you want is to spend 23 hours of the day naked with a man on top of you.

Like mother, like daughter. Although hopefully she wasn't quite as slutty as me - no-one likes to think of their mother like that do they.

Confuzzled.

Text from The Ex this evening:

"There's a bit of me that thinks we should have one big night and then call it a day and delete each others numbers from our phones."

Oh, right. So all this time we've been having pleasant conversations about our lives, you've been wishing I'd shut up and/or initiate a bout of text sex? Well isn't that just lovely. You know what, maybe we should do that. Or maybe we should skip the sex and I'll just delete you anyway.

Yawn.

I'm aware that the last couple of posts have been rather downbeat - even, dare I say, dull? That's because I'm getting no action right now, not even a sniff of action. I'm at my parents' house for Easter, hence no boozing, no nights out, no men. Trust me, once I get back to Manchester things will perk up.

Having said that, I had text sex with my ex the other night (yes, the one I'm still not over). It was fun - I don't know what came over me, but I took on this dominatrix persona that I've never encountered in myself before. Not sure if I'll ever explore it in real life, since I don't think I could pull it off without dying of embarrassment. I'd have to be pretty hammered, and when I'm in that state I like to lie back and have my hands pinned over my head, that sort of thing. Perhaps if I could find a state between "sober" and "the room is spinning"...

Watched the Boat Race yesterday. What is it about posh boys? Whenever Boat Race day rolls around (and whenever I watch the rugby, truth be told) I start thinking I'd like nothing better than to marry an Oxbridge graduate and live in his family's country pile with a brood of Labradors and maybe a horse or two. Or maybe it's the sight of sixteen 6 foot 6 men in lycra that gets the blood rushing straight to my expensive place. Yeah.

Mothers' Day

I'm feeling refreshed after a weekend at home - just me and my mum, and plenty of fresh air and...well, food that's not exactly good for you, but tasty nonetheless. It felt wonderful to be away from my tiny little room, which has become like a sort of prison these past few weeks.

And now I'm back, armed with St John's Wort and tons of fresh vegetables in an attempt to bring my mood up this week. I'm trying out everything before I have to traipse to the doctors for something more heavy duty.

I don't know why this all started. I lost a close relative recently, so it could be a hangover from that. I came off the Pill a couple of weeks ago, so that might be playing havoc with my hormones. I hate my job, that's definitely got something to do with it. And, although I'm getting on with the people I live with far better than ever before, I'm still lonely. It's pathetic, but I need a boyfriend to make me feel complete. That whole "you don't need a man to make you happy" and "learn to love yourself, then others will love you" song and dance? Bullshit. I've had plenty of time to love myself - two years and counting - and believe me, it's about time someone else came along to do it for me. I can't keep spending so much on batteries for one thing, I'll go bankrupt.

Plus, text sex with an ex is probably not the healthiest thing, but I have no choice. Until someone real comes along, that's all I've got to keep me going. The day he gets a new girlfriend is the day I begin my descent into repetitive strain injury.