Urgh, I am so broken today it's just not even funny any more. After reading my survey results and being surprised at how broken and unhappy some of you think I am, I have reacted in my usual twisted way by becoming exactly like that. I am a self-filling prophecy wrapped up in a paradox or something. Paradox burrito!
I have yet again slept sufficiently for Margaret Thatcher, but not for actual human beings. Though I was touched to hear that in the few hours of sleep I did get I snored like a tractor. Good. Feckless, useless, incompetent and a perpetual disturbance. The CFO is a lucky man at the moment.
I have chest pains. Not cardiac chest pains, craziness chest pains. The kind that are dull and aching rather than the panicky kind. I am always surprised when being sad hurts physically. It's weird. Today's pain feels a bit like the one I used to get in my first year at college when I used to sit in the college library and look at the happy couples snogging and revising together and so on before I trudged off to sit and be sad and despairing on a payphone. I keep poking my chest experimentally to see if I have pulled a muscle or something, but no. I have pulled my brain. Ow. See? There it goes again.
I have a chronic case of administrative paralysis, or stupidity, to give it its full technical name. The kind where picking up the phone to try and sort out the children's party (that I booked for this weekend and then forgot about so have invited noone - well played Emma) is like scaling the North Face of the Eiger in Louboutins. The CFO has asked me to go and do something to his sealed box of money in the bank cellar and I said I would but here I still am hoping that some kind of deus ex machina will sweep down from the lowering grey Uccle skies and dash off to ING in my place. There are lots of other things in this part but even thinking about them makes me feel nauseous and chekhovian.
I am seriously wondering if I should go back to some kind of therapy. God, it was awful - being bullied by firm but gentle women to do sensible grown up things. AWFUL. Things must be bad if I am even entertaining that thought for a second. But the desire to punch myself quite hard is becoming overwhelming. Or bite each of my fingers really hard in turn. Or dig my nails into my forearm as hard as I can. Perhaps I should talk to this man? He could cure all my ills by hitting me over the head. Hooray!
I am talking about how miserable I am on my usually lighthearted weblog which several members of my family read. Hello, family members.
I am going to post this even though I should just DELETE EVERYTHING and take a photo of some vegetables, or play 'ugliest European election poster photo'. Shall we play that soon? I can't imagine this long dark ING basement of the soul can last too long.
Here, have a video of the most ridiculous creature I have ever seen. M and I have measured it using our patented animal classification system and found it to be 75% face, 20% ludicrous and 5% bizarrely appealing. It's the least I can do for you.