After a long, tiring day I’m reclining in my boudoir plittering with my phone when I should be tidying the floordrobe and halfheartedly washing the dishes.
It’s been a dramarama of a few days, the details of which are generally not fit for public consumption but include a bizarre episode in A&E on Saturday evening which found me singing (mostly the wrong words to) Frank Sinatra songs as a distraction to stop my ma from yanking out a canula from her arm whilst I attempted to text updates to all and sundry with my foot, as all my other limbs were engaged in holding her down on the bed while the X-ray machine did its thing. I should’ve been at a hen do instead but isn’t that all just part of life’s rich tapestry?
I did get the urge to blog comprehensively tonight but I’ve just found a pair of Heather’s pants in Tucker’s bed and I’m nervous about what to do with them in case she thinks I stole them. Coupled with that I’m up early in the morning so I’ve a face like a cat’s arse. Almost slept in this morning which is just the worst start to anyone’s day especially if it means rocking up to work sans makeup. I recall a spectacularly bad sleeping-in episode from several years ago when I slept in for a thing which left me no time to shower. Searching in my bag for something useful, I found a phone wipe which I used to “freshen up” and it stung like buggery for days and I could hardly sit down.
I’m having one of those mental fretting days. Paranoid and hypersensitive about EVERYBLOODYTHING. I enjoy a good list so here, for your Tuesday night schadenfreude, because you’re almost CERTAINLY as happy as a clam, while I lie here fretting for Scotland, is my list of frets and worries (in no particular order)
- The imminent Blade Runner sequel. Do NOT fuck this up, Ridley Scott et al.
- Heather returning from lampshade making workshop and I’ve to explain the aforementioned pants.
- What if the moon landings WERE a hoax. I’m blaming Mark Geddes for this. He asked me why we can’t see the flags on the moon, despite the superduper telescopes we’ve developed and it’s made me question my very existence. Damn you Geddes, and the horse you rode in on.
- My intrusive thoughts have increased dramatically and one is so awful I’d be banged up for THINKING it; never mind doing it. Another one involved the compulsion to push over a telephone engineer I passed tinkering in a phone cable box thing on his hunkers on Saturday morning. A simple shove in the back would’ve sent him flying. I’m worried I’m becoming cat bin lady. Remember her?
- Remembering stupid things I’ve said including confidently shouting “CERVIX!” at a training workshop on manual handling when asked to name parts of the neck. Why did I say that?
- Clusterfuck of life admin (this particular fret is carried forward ad infinitum)
- Satan’s jigsaw (ditto)
- Still not completely convinced I don’t look like Dame Edna Everage
- Free floating procrastination anxiety. You name it, I’m procrastinating over it, anxiously.
- My lack of pension provision. I’m fucked, basically.
Featured picture is, for no good reason, Buckfast sausages.