No Such Thing As Too Much

No, I have not yet had my first ice cream this year. But I have seen a few people with cones in their hands, indulging in the cool sweetness, despite the weather.

In my humble opinion, ice cream is an all-year-round thing. To be enjoyed at all times, in all season. 

Of course, there are those who believe, ice cream is a summer affair, something to look forward to, something that comes round once a year like Christmas or Easter. Fools, I say. Ice cream never goes out of fashion or taste and why in hell would I want to wait until Summer?! The pleasure of ice cream cannot be spoiled. It is always at least as great as the last time, even if the last time was just an hour ago.

And yes, we can add that to my list of sins. I am a glutton for ice cream. There were times when I would have ice cream for breakfast on Sundays. I forget the name but it was vanilla with a layer of home-made raspberry jam on top. Courtesy of Eis Christina, of course.

Why am I remembering this? Because it stems from a time when I was very foolish. Not so much where my eating-habits were concerned, but my taste in men. 

And the memory of that particular brand of bad taste does not seem to go away. No matter how many times I try to cleanse my palate, there is always this slight bitterness at the back of my mouth. Did I say slight? Nonchalant, but inaccurate. That whole sorry chapter of my life just lets me wonder again and again where the hell rational thought and sanity were hiding out during that time. 

I said last month I would like to cut out that part of my memory and basically make the whole thing undone. 

And I still feel that way. I regret not being stronger and walking away sooner from a coward of a man, a silly and selfish human being unable to share, unable to be honest, unable to speak their mind or even speak UP, a weak and sorry figure that I should never ever have allowed into my life in the first place. 

But I also wonder what I may have learned from that experience. Apart from hating that person's guts and being a little worse for wear, apart from the usual anger.

I have no idea. I am lost for words. And that is saying much coming from a verbose person. 

I refuse to believe that Eis Christina is spoiled for me now. That eating ice cream is spoiled for me now, too. 

Well, if it comes down to that then so would be A LOT of things. And then I might just as well just give up and die. 

Ah, but I can't. 

There is still so much more venom to be spread.


P.S. If I was ever made into a comic book heroine I want to go by the name of Bitter Almond and if I had a choice, my gal pals'd be Miho and Maya.

Like Totally

Young folks of today are too much for me. Really.
I cannot decipher their cryptic messages when they try to interact socially. Actual face-to-face talk.
Conversations with phrases and words, mumblings, utterings. Vocal-chord action, dude. Not so sure they have ever heard of that. And yeah, it's redundant to blame it on the whole social media fad. Though, one must wonder - is it really still a fad, was it ever? Is it here to stay, was it always? I don't know, maybe in a few years, some crazy kid will come up with something that requires keeping shtum, saying nothing about oneself or others and just being, getting on with one's life without making a big fuckin' to-do about it.
So both on- and off-line I am not sure I get them.
Perhaps that just means I am getting old and too lazy to learn anything more. But I sometimes catch myself being so bloody grateful for not having to be 17 again, and in this day and age at that. God, all that awkwardness, the insecurities.
Living at home!

Then again, apart from not living at home and having a few things sorted out - awkward moments and insecurities are like friends you never wanted, they stick around.
But despite the occasional moan and whine about the good old days and youth and looks, despite the occasional awkward moment and the doubts, I am more often than not relieved that I seem to have gained some experience, some calm and some strength which allow me to get on with it and let me be resigned, and contentedly so, that I am not 17 anymore. Or 21 or whatever, dude. (Clearly, some being the operative word here.)

More astounding than the young folks in general, mind-boggling even, are the younger members of the opposite sex. Not that I was ever any good at reading a man's mind, his thoughts, should he have any. Chances are that I get even worse the younger they are. But what is it with their inability to shut the heck up?! I don't mind friendly banter, even witty flirting. But "too much information", too much talking - not so much. Seriously, if I want to chat, I go online - they of all people should understand that.
Perhaps it's just age and having been there already and having heard it all before and having been impressed once but not anymore by their little sad stories and their antics and their adventures and how they are so misunderstood.

Sometimes though - rarely, admittedly - they surprise you. No matter what age.
They seem thoughtful. And pensive. Focused. In a good way. Surprisingly so. Ah, but there it is, that word seem. Alright, I am rambling. Could well be that I have gained less experience than I thought. Could be that I am still as inept at getting male signals right as I ever was. Maybe I am simply not seasoned and wise.

Only problem is, experience or no, when you get it all wrong at 36 you feel just like the fool you were at 17. Personally, I very much try to avoid that. Without much success evidently.

But I am not going to order my tombstone any time soon or take up knitting or some other such nonsense.
So, more silly antics of a silly lady.
I had to stop for a second and think whether I could get away with writing "young" lady. I am not sure. But "middle-aged" seems utterly wrong, too and out-dated and frankly like a spinster from a Jane Austen novel. Well, in her day and age I would have been.

Oh dear lord...

The Winter Of My Discontent

Just got home...
to find my toilet completely unconnected from the main water pipe...

Dear Void, please DO give me the strength to stay calm.
Furthermore, PLEASE let my landlord find a qualified water/drain/pipe guy who can fix this. And fix it yesterday.
Also, I would like you, darling Void, to point me in the direction to understanding WHY THE FUCK ME AGAIN????

It's Friday.
I have a flat that is still missing wallpaper, paint, tiles (don't get me started!) and...oh yes, a flippin' loo that works.
I have had a week of builders walking in and out, the rooms I can live in look like a horder's den, boxes and stuff everywhere. I am basically living out of a suitcase. Every morning I carry my toiletries around like I'm on a bloody camping site.

I must say I have been pretty darn patient and graceful about all of what's been going on lately.
But this is really taking the biscuit... I have no rising-above left in me.
I HAVE NO TOILET!

Not sure whether to laugh or cry.

Did I mention that the flat-hunt is not going too well.

So, happy freakin' weekend to all!

P.S. Dear Mr. Cooper, what do you suggest I put on that gratitude list for today?

F(requently) A(ttempted) Q(uest)

I fail regularly at being the bigger, the better person, at indeed rising above.
I much rather go for mean-spirited and petty, resentful and unforgiving.

Thus reads today's thought bubble: When is a good time to let go of one's negativity?
(Oh, I know Deepak's answer to that. And I can already hear the Void's utter silence.)

I am asking nevertheless, how can I possibly let go and forgive/forget when so much is left unsaid?
This is indeed about unfinished business and I feel like I am stewing. I need to get this off my chest at some point.
Having said that, there is the argument to be made that there is no point, the conversation (as all the conversations in that particular chapter of my life) would be a one-way street, pointless to go into it, you cannot (re-)turn.

But perhaps I need to let go of those thoughts despite the silence at the other end and the incomprehension and the failure to be sorry and mean it in order to let go of all the bad I have accumulated inside of me. The rage. The grudge. The hate.

Talk about saving yourself, huh? Frankly, I don't have time to wait for divine retribution. Could be I missed it, could also be it never comes.
And clearly, I am refering to the other party here who should be paying a little for a change, not me, because, believe you me, I have had MY share, thank you very much!

But that is also the dilemma right there - while I want to be free of my pain, I want to inflict it on others. I want to spread it around, because I find it unbearable.
Alright, honestly - it's not so much others, it is one person in particular.
We all know how it goes.
You hurt me, I hurt you back. It's like the Mafia.

Note to myself: must watch "Godfather".

And NO!, I am not going to send him a horse's head.
Where in hell would I get a horse's head, for crying out loud?! Yellow Pages?
It is tempting, though. REALLY tempting.

Also I am not turning into Ms Close 'round Fatal Attraction.

I just have a lot of delayed rage, that is all.
And that does not make me of unsound mind.


I was just asking a simple question...

It's The Little Things

Cleaned toilet with old tooth brush of ex-lover.
Feel strangely happy.

Need I Say More

All is well. Eis Christina is open again.

Thinking, And Thinking Hard...

So I have not written for a couple of days...
So what?
It's not like The Void cares.

Besides it seems as though Winter has finally understood his job description and is now officially getting on with it. Hurrah!
Though THAT means, it's almost too cold to think. And therefore, today's thought-bubble is rather empty I'm afraid.

My suggestion: do your own thinking!
Or if you're The Void: don't give a crap about somebody else's musings for a change.

Wisdom

Wisdom does come in all sorts of shapes and sizes but I happen to know that it never comes tailor-made for just you. You have to make your own adjustments, take a bit off here, stitch in a little there. Make mistakes and bad choices, be a little happy, be a little sad, win some, lose some . . . All that will change your perception, it will enlighten you. The stitches and cuts you make are the path you take at the crossroads in life, they may be straight, they may meander and de-tour this way and that. They’re different with each and every one of us. Because we all are unique in our perception of life, in our wisdoms, in our experiences that shapes us.

In the end you will have your unique sageness, your very own savvy. It will be your wisdom in your shape and in your size. That is not something that comes ready-to-wear. It’s something that needs work, a lot of it and years of practice.

Blessed Are The Merciful

... for they will be shown mercy, according to Matthew. 
While I am not at all knowledgeable on all things Bible and have my quarrels with the Church, I have been known to ponder on occasion the idea of what makes a good person, not a good Christian, mind. 
Ms Kaine has some interesting points http://bibleunlocked.blogspot.com/2010/03/blessed-are-merciful-for-they-will-be.html - which almost had me convinced that I should look into Christianity more. But somehow I was saved from myself. It must have been a miracle, I guess. 
Then again, I really should keep my mouth shut about something I know so little about. 
What I do know, though, is that when I was a little younger and even more naive than now, I used to look down on people who only go to church on Christmas. I really thought I had a right to judge because I was such a wonderously steadfast church member and so dedicated at that. 
Seriously, I should have been given a proper slap for thinking that and holding myself in such high esteem, that's what should have happened. 
But it didn't. 

So nowadays I am just glad that I overcame that supercilious foolishness and furthermore I am grateful (listen to this, Brad!) that I have not turned into some bible bashing anti-abortionist, gay-hating creationist or whoever is out there these days that calls for various good slaps on their behinds.
The irony of it all is, I HAVE turned into one of those people that only go to church on Christmas. Because I simply do not care. Because I am a godless person leading a profane and empty life revolving around money and pettiness and ungratefulness and bickerings, grudges, greed, anger etc. etc. Yup, that is me. Thankfully not the Whore of Babylon, but not a Virgin Mary either. Just your friendly neighbourhood sinner.

How can I not care when my soul is on the line? Easy - I just don't. At least not because the Bible, or the Church, is telling me to. 
I believe there is a God without churches, temples, mosques. I believe there are good and kind people without ten outdated commandments, I believe that open-mindedness goes a long way. I also believe that patience is needed. With others and with ourselves. 
A friend of mine used to remind me that I needed to be kind to myself in order to be kind to others and that if I could not be kind to myself how could anyone else be. 
Ms. Kaine gets that. 

I am just hoping that the reverse of Matthew's musings is not necessarily true. (Something nice and pithy along the lines of Cursed be the Cruel etc.)
God could not possibly be okay with that. From what I have heard, He and His Son are big on forgiveness and patience, especially with the ones that deserve it least. 
Well, I am no God, oh boy, and don't I know it. In fact I am/we are all too human. 
And therefore, I do not feel bad for saying the following (again): 
I am all done with rising-above. 
I have phantasies of putting someone through hell and back. 
I wish agony and fear on someone. 
In fact, I rue the day I have ever met this someone. 
So much so, that I would like to cut that part of my memory out and burn it and scatter the ashes. 
And the reason I am writing this is to show how very un-Christian I am, but also how very, very human. 

When you're in love you'd do a lot for the one you're with, all's pure bliss (until it isn't, of course), and indeed the world seems made for two.
Lana was right.  
But even more so was William Congreve: 

"Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned, . . ."

Damn straight!

Monday Night Rant

So, Video Games pretty much sums it up, does it not.

The Things We Do For Love, as 10CC had it.

Every little thing we do is intended for that one we cannot seem to do without, whose presence makes us happier, shinier, brighter, makes us just about everything but a million times better than normal.

Us with the boobs, yeah – we are real suckers for this – and Lana’s spot on: we do put on his favourite perfume, his favourite dress, we makes ourselves pretty, we doll ourselves up, we wax and pluck and buff ourselves. So we can get screwed into submission…

Ah, I’m sorry. Feeling a bit dark today. 

In Love With Lana

Every single time Lana Del Ray's Song Video Games comes on I catch myself feeling wistful.

This is not a complaint.
It is a simple statement of fact. Video Games makes me remember and wish for times gone by.

So, in good old Bradley Cooper Fashion, I shall be grateful to Lana. For conjuring up such vivid pictures of the past. For calling the ghosts. For making my heart ache a little, for making me laugh at silly antics that seemed long forgotten.
She also put her finger on something that to everyone else must have been and probably IS so damn obvious but I have - once again - been in the dark for what seems my whole life.

I am not done yet but too tired.
So, more soon

I've Been Wrong Before

The period of nine months seems like a good amount of time for development.

Think human babies. 

Well, today I personally am thinking less babies and more personal growth. 

Whatever.
I, too, have had nine months. 

I have not done very well, though.

I have lost that competition if there ever was one.

I have lost to any fetus that has made it out of the womb alive. 

Wow, that really makes me feel special. 

In these nine months, I have not been able to overcome personal challenges. I have not been able to be kind, forgiving.

I am still holding a grudge (it actually should be GRUDGE, sorry to be picky) against a person in my life. I still want to hurt them and hurt them bad. I still have not moved on. I have actually RETURNED from the Land of the Sane and Balanced and I feel like I am now Carrie at the prom.

I also have the suspicion that grudges grow over time despite popular religious belief. Time does not heal all wounds. What utter crap! 

I have tried to forgive and forget. I can't. It does not work. Simple as that. 

I am not the bigger person.
I am not the calm one.
I am not forgiving as it turns out. 

Well, at least I know that much about myself now. That is what I have learned in my nine months of gestation. More like Jest-ation. Whatever... 

So I was thinking perhaps the Void can take care of this. 

If the Void is as big as I believe it is, then it can handle this, no problem. Swallow the grudge and all the bad energy, all the destructive emotions - because frankly I cannot. 

Let's see how that goes...

What Trumps A Grudge

Tiredness
Tight Schedule, Thus NO Time

That's what.

A Word About High Heels

I have been on my feet for over 12 hours, 10 of them I have spent standing up, running around at work, walking from one job to the other, walking home (remember, I have two jobs now). IN HEELS!
On top of it all I was stupid enough not to bring flats to change into after work. Which made my walk home all the more pleasant.

Heels - so innocent looking in the morning. You feel like you can do anything in them. On top of that, they make you look feminine and sexy. It's something to do with the way we walk in heels.
's what I heard...
But come evening, not only do you want to rip off those damn spikes, NO, you want to cut off your feet altogether because they BURN like a mother... And there is no relief once you have taken them off - the shoes not the feet - it feels like you're still wearing them. The pain lingers. It feels like a slow smoldering fire.

It is torture. I mean it all starts out innocent enough. But is that not the way with most things dangerous to your health? There are VARIOUS reasons never to touch or rather wear heels again, from foot deformities to being incapacitated and basically being rendered a Damsel in Distress, precariously balancing across cobble stones, always on the verge of getting those heels stuck somewhere or snapped in two or breaking your ankle.

Yes, yes - I know I am a shallow, silly, foolish woman. I let my vanity get in the way.
All that pain for the ILLUSION of having longer legs, being taller. All that so I can seem a little seductive, a little in need of help and protection, a little more fragile.
I promise you this has ME cringing MORE than you right now. Because, believe me, I am perfectly able to look after myself. I sort out my problems, I know how to use a hammer and a power-drill, I do my own heavy-lifting, I don't have a fit if I break a nail. I get on with it.
That can be intimidating.
Apparently.
So every once in a while I bend over backwards trying to be less intimidating. Every once in a while I put on heels and I lie.
I lie about my height, the lenght of my legs, my posture, my need for protection, my self-dependence.

Usually all it does is get my feet super sore because I am not that good a liar about the rest. And there is only so much you can do about the way you are made in terms of physique and character. Sure, you can keep working at it to bring about change(s). Which would tie in nicely to the discussion of self-awareness and growth. But, that is not what we are here for today.
(Also I feel like I cannot constantly write about personal development and kindness and conscious living because a) I am so flippin' good at it that I would just make you jealous which would be mean and b) I do like to get my meaning across in a covert way, in metaphors, in allegories and therefore, there will be MORE little stories of my little life. The void will then chose just how much I have learned over time. It will never tell me of course. But now and then even the dumbest among us get an inkling, right. So there is indeed hope for the hopeless. And I am strictly speaking of myself here.)

But getting back on track and doing something about the way you look. There is only one thing I can say I believe to be true: If it starts to hurt at some point, either change the look or change yourself. And that all depends on how desperate you are. Sadly, I do get desperate. I AM desperate. I put on heels, I go on diets. I suck in my belly to fit into jeans and dresses and I dye my hair.

In the mornings, like the heels, this idea of changing who you are - even just for a little bit - seems great and promising.
Come night-time, not so much. You just feel sore and depleted. Because basically it's a lie. The heels and the  "new me".

Until the next time, right?

Less Is More

Looks like I will be working a bit more. Therefore, the writing will ... well, kind of grind to a halt.
Just saying.

The Fit Of The Land

I have all but forgotten about the Bradley-style list, my own attempts at gratitude and inner quiet, patience, kindness.
I mean, I have been banging on and on about it.
Sadly, I have to admit that I have not been very good with keeping the focus on myself and my thoughts in order to be a better version of myself, to be less rash and more balanced, more patient and indeed kind to my fellow men and fellowmaidens. (And yes, I know Fellowmaiden is a font and not really a term in the English Language used to designate female members of the populace, thank you.)

I seem to have got lazy. Side-tracked, complacent, generally not bovvered.


Shocking! I know! And we're only three weeks into the new year.
What is to become of my intentions which are neither good nor bad?
Clearly they're also neither here nor there.
A disappointing performance so far! But I shall not call this undertaking a failure. Yet. I treat this as a minor glitch. A hiccup. Plus, I blame it on the dark. The lack of Vitamin D makes us all feel worse for wear.
But to be perfectly honest, I do not really see myself pulling me out of this slump.
I need a trailblazer, someone who is willing to go that extra mile and take me along.
Some kind of improvement-buddy, I guess.
Preferably someone that fits into my jacket pocket and just nudges me gently when I threaten to fall back into nasty old patterns and habits. Right, not gonna happen.

Well, up to very recently I was very much opposed to the idea of sports in general and of jogging in particular and jogging in pairs made up a whole new category of hate.
However, I have now changed my tune slightly - maybe it's because every morning when I wake my body feels like it's turned 80 while I was sleeping - I can imagine now that a running partner may be a good idea in order to actually keep to the schedule of alotted training time as opposed to not going at all because of "generally not being bovvered"-ness.
You see, that is my problem right there. I am not bovvered. I get these pangs of guilt and frustration at how I look and I inadvertently reach the conclusion that I HAVE TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT THAT. However: such insight never stays long. I suffer from Fitness Amnesia.
My enthusiasm and excitement usually fizzle out and I end up not sticking to schedules, diets, plans etc. (I did mention this before: I am consistent at one thing - giving up.)

So I keep thinking perhaps having a person that joins me in the effort might be a good thing.
The ideal jogging buddy would probably be my improvement buddy, too. (Jogging as one rung on the self-improvement ladder, see what I did there.)

Inner Monologue:
Me: I do believe, I need to be my own improvement buddy! I need to be my trailblazer.
Myself: Are you out of your mind?! Do I have to do everything around here?
Me: Think about it. I'd be perfect. I cannot stand the idea of having someone watch me cough up my lungs while trying to move at a pace that is not considered moseying. Much less do I cherish the thought of bouncy, fit Sporty Spice chatting incessantly without ever needing to catch her breath or considering to shut the hell up while I quietly sink to the ground and die from outdoors activity.
Myself: I shall not endorse this kind of thinking. I refuse to be my improvement buddy.
Me: Well, if it is not myself then I do believe we WILL have to get in the chatty road runner. It's one or the other.
Myself: (shaking her Magic Eight Ball): Concentrate and try again!
Me: I. Do. Believe. I. Need. To. Be. My. Own. Improvement. Buddy.
Myself: How's that gonna work?!
Me: Easy! It's gonna be me. But new and improved. And I shall get myself together and start over with this home-improvement.
Myself: It's called SELF-improvement, you div.

I know I have been talking about it a bit, the growing and the paying-attention and the being-grateful and what have you.
But for some reason I seem to suffer from all sorts of amnesia, i.e. I keep forgetting my plans, my resolutions, intentions, my little promises to myself and the universe - call them whatever you want - fact remains, I get so bloody caught up in ... well, stuff (which does not even bear writing about because it's so silly) that it all seems a giant waste of time.
So while I have a clear moment I shall propose this to the void (btw. the void has heard all of this before but kindly and patiently plays along - every single time - the void is officially kewl):
I need to make the conscious decision to change. It cannot be half-hearted or half-arsed, as it were.
And yes, my favourite: no one's gonna do it FOR me.
Oh, and the perfect time would be right now. (Always is for some reason.)
See! Easy! (Did I hear a chuckle just now?!)

But seriously, if I am not the one who looks out for ME, who gently reminds me of what I want to be in this here universe, who patiently puts me back on track then who in hell is going to do the job?!
I guess, I do have to do everything myself 'round here.

Is it not strange how often we say "Well, if I do it myself at least I know it is done properly" and how rarely we apply that to ourselves and our own personal growth?


On this note: be patient and gentle and kind - not least to yourselves!


P.S.
I could NEVER pay anyone enough to become my jogging buddy.

Sometimes Bob Hoskins Is Wrong

I've just had a phone call. From a person I did not want to speak to. Not tonight. Not ever. I would have been fine to simply let them slip out of my life. I never wanted to hear from them again.
I was fine until now.

It was a bit cringe-worthy, that phone call. You are being badgered with questions. And you REALLY do not want to share anything about your life but it would be considered rude to simply ignore their questions. So I lied a little - alright, not just a little - while all the time wondering why in the hell would they want to talk or even - as they suggested - see me?! What kind of random wish is that?! I have not seen them in ages. And frankly there is no point in starting now. What could I possibly have to say to them and vice versa that the other would want to hear? Nothing at all.

That's precisely the phone call you DO NOT want to get on a Sunday evening. Trust me!
It somehow reminds you of all the things that feel a bit awkward in your life, the people you left hanging, the things/stories/business you left unfinished.
And THAT should not be pondered when Sunday is on its way out. When Sunday is kind of picking up its coat getting ready to go and catch a ride. Phone calls like the one I just had are like those people at a party who keep quiet all evening and then drop an "innocent" comment that has you wrecking your brain where in God's name THAT came from. (Plus it does not help when you feel a little short-tempered, a little snappy.) Odious creatures! Nothing to say all night and then POW! Vicious! Deadly! Like a flippin' stun gun. DO NOT EVER bring such things to a party. In the end someone always gets hurt.

But I digress.
No, Sunday evenings should be spent either on t'couch with a good book, a nice DvD, a handsome lover, not necessarily in that order but you get the idea.
Sunday evenings should not, however, be spent jogging (or any other kind of work-out), fighting with friends and/or loved ones, having weird phone conversations with, well strangers, basically. The sort who thinks they know you. Sunday evenings should be synonymous with Peace & Quiet.

Have now turned ringer off on phone. Big improvement.



P.S.
I was fine until now.
Dramatic much?

So, Friday 13th, huh?!

Don't get me wrong, I am not complaining. It was yet another not quite so eventful day in my glitzy life.

Also I did not get run over, did not break a leg, did not even fall down the stairs for a change. Oh, didn't I tell you? Yeah, December was my Month of the Staircase. I managed to trip and fall down two of them. In two different locations with roughly two weeks between each occurance. Yeah, I'm thorough.


But today - not so much as a bump on the head... Ok, so I did spill my coffee...

But I was sort of expecting WAY WORSE and once you do that, everything that does go a little wrong usually seems silly and small.
I am not suggesting, however, that one should go about one's life expecting the WORST every single day, even though sometimes it may seem like a good idea.

I would love to write: NO! Go through life hopeful and with eyes open.
In fact, I write and say that often.
To other people.
To everyone but myself.

I blame it on the "standing too close" thing and the fact that one can give brilliant advise to others and analyse their problems and tell them everything is going to be just fine etc. but fail miserably in their own little scenarios called life.

Anyway, this was supposed to be just a quick note to say that I am very grateful.
For not much happening.




There, you see - Bradley's finally rubbing off on me. Ha!
Looks like Friday, 13th was actually good for something.

Too comatose t...zzzzzz

So, yesterday's entry was pretty pathetic.
I'm aware of that.
However, I just couldn't.

And I do not feel that much better today.
I feel lazy, tired, a bit drained. And therefore this will have to suffice for today.
Suffice?
Yeah, you know... to illustrate HOW pathetic I REALLY am.

I just want to go and lie down somewhere. Anywhere.
Honestly, I feel like I have some weird form of either hybernation syndrome or chronic sleepy condition - neither of which exists but it feels like I SHOULD have them.
Why? Because I need to have some kind of excuse for this state of mine.

Maybe I'm just getting old...

Or maybe after the Season-To-Be-Jolly there is the Season-To-Be-Dozy. And boring.

Not sure what this means.
Must keep track.
And go to bed early for a change, stupid!

Too. Bloody. Tired.