In the words of Victor Meldrew, I can’t believe it! Rafa, I doubted from the beginning. Why on earth did I do that? Never again will I fail to believe. He always pulls it out the bag, doesn’t he? It was by no means a great final, neither man playing their best, but my argument is that Nadal never needed to – Berdych didn’t take his game to the levels he used to dispatch Federer, and various other opponents. Still, I’m happy for Tomas – his first slam final! And who would’ve picked him from that side of the draw, this time two weeks ago?! I certainly didn’t. He’s got a killer smile and a great game. I’m sure he’ll get a slam before long. 
This, by the way, is Nadal’s second slam of the year (the second time he’s done the back-to-back French Open/Wimbledon wins) and his eighth of his career. He now joins the elites of the game, and he’s only 24. AMAZING.
In other news, life is extremely busy. The days are still blending. I’m finding driving very difficult, and if it weren’t for the fact that I’m insufferably stubborn, I would have given it up by now. The pay off doesn’t seem worth the stress. I don’t particularly want a car, and I wouldn’t have anywhere to drive it to, anyway. I just want to be able to say I can. I don’t enjoy being crap at things; so, no matter how much money I have to fork out for lessons, I will be able to drive one day.
I’ve got a great idea for a story, but the problem is finding the time to work on it…I’ve requested a typewriter for my birthday, so hopefully that will spur me on. I literally have no excuse then (right now I’m blaming it on the fact that I’m using the computer once or twice a week at the most, so I’m never able to write). I’m going to take my notebook on the train with me tomorrow, and instead of reading a couple of chapters of whichever book throughout the day, I’ll try to write a few paragraphs. Sounds fair.
I’m also considering signing up to the local gym. I find the thought of it terrifying, but I’m absolutely sick of myself and my negative self-attitude, so I might as well do something about it. The way I see it now, I’m well out of my teens and heading into the abyss that is the Real World – I’ve got to get over whatever is holding me back from being who I want to be. So, I can’t find the perfect job? I can’t afford a place of my own? I’m going to be rejected by Warwick? I can’t move to France which is what I so desperately, desperately want? I can’t write all day? Oh boo-fucking-hoo, Sinéad. Tell you what you can do, dearest. You can get off your arse and do some bleeding exercise, instead of moping around hating on yourself.
…the Sports Direct website is entirely unreasonable. I’ll have to look around Birmingham for gym clothes, tomorrow. Oh good.
Time for a shower, a cup of tea, a vague attempt at telling myself I haven’t frittered the day away as usual. I’ve actually achieved enough. I went to town and got bleach for my roots, had a coffee and doughnut for breakfast (WHOLE-HEARTEDLY RECOMMENDED), came home to find Sue had sold a copy of Fight the Sky on my behalf, fretted and then rejoiced over Wimbledon, got the community I moderate sorted, deleted WRAW and Overkill Hair, googled “how to survive the gym” and finally got around to writing in this little white box of mine. It doesn’t sound like a thrilling day, but it was worth it, right?
Oh, who am I kidding. I’m tired. Congratulations Rafa. The bed calls to me. Five-thirty tomorrow morning calls to me. Eat, sleep, wither, repeat – see you next week for more of the same.
