Pizza, Dr Oetker Ristorante Speciale pizza. Nothing special, but I want it so much. I bought one two days before I started this diet. I cooked it for my son the other day. I’m surprised I had the restraint not to eat it, knowing it was there.
Epspecially, he’s so frustrating. He hasn’t looked for anywhere to live for next year, and I know he won’t want to live at home, just keeps saying ‘Oh, I need to check my emails’. So, if he gets back in that means ME running around like a blue assed fly trying to sort it for him. When we ask him what happens now he was saying he needed to wait until August to get his results. Well, of course hubby was seeing all friends and family posting ‘Well dones’ to their lot for passing first year on Facebook. So we make discreet enquiries, results are out now, and resits are in August, not results! He hasn’t done anything to sort his grant out, as hubby and I need to fill in the forms too, I had to keep him until November last year as he cocked his application up and didn’t have a bean to his name. Waiting now for ‘a letter’ from the Uni to see if he’ll be allowed back. He either doesn’t care, can’t be bothered or is lying to us and whichever it is, it’s aggravating me. If he even showed some remorse about it, but it’s just blank stares and silence and ‘I don’t know’ whenever we ask anything. Found him absolutely paralytic drunk last Friday morning, eight empty beer cans on the floor of his room, and a can – an open half full can – leaned between his sleeping body, and his plugged in laptop! He’d started drinking well after 11 when we’d gone to bed. I said to him, who the hell starts drinking at that time of night, on their own, at home, on a bloody Thursday? I asked him if this was the sort of thing he was doing in his halls? And he must have still been drinking up to about 6 am. It’s equally frustrating and frightening to be honest. He’s giving me a wide berth at the moment after I told him never to do that under my roof again or he’d be packed off to live with his father.