Thursday, 4 June 2009

No cure for Wednesday (except maybe allergy meds*)

Sorry, sorry, I am just emerging from a 24 hour hallucinatory migraine. Well, I may be exaggerating slightly. There was migraine, and then there was Wednesday or a lengthy and punitive hallucination that might have been Wednesday and they felt terribly similar. I think on reflection migraine was better, at least I was allowed to lie face down in the dark swallowing Migraleve Pinks while something drilled into my head. Wednesday showed no such mercy and there is no (legal) pharmaceutical solution that I know of*. There has been extreme parking, a momentary lapse of concentration that nearly saw me swerve into a police car, a desperate and failed attempt to rebuild a chair that Oscar has eaten and the CFO's insistence that I study a catalogue of shower cubicles with a detail and reverence more suited to holy scripture. The fragrant presence of Jean Luc, the most devious accountant in Belgium, for much of the day has only added to the joyful mêlée.

Hang on, where were we before the migraine came and chewed my face off last night?

It seems to have only left the vaguest fragments of thoughts. I am finding it impossible to gather them in any coherent fashion with Fingers millimetres from my right ear telling me interesting parrot facts, and the weepette whining feebly to go out, then come in, then go out. The only reason Lashes isn't joining in is that I have despatched him up to his bedroom to play hours of brain liquidising Pokémon because I simply do not care any more and unless I get twenty minutes peace something really horrible will happen in this house.

The post it notes stuck to the inside of my skull go something like this:

- Elections. Brain poster. Is Guy Verhofstadt an optical illusion? Why does he look normal at some angles and totally grotesque at others?

- Sneaking to bed very late: technique and injuries

- Recent reading list. Why do I keep reading books that drag me down into the depths of despair? Reading about death repeatedly does not seem to be making me any more accepting. Should I go back to PG Wodehouse and Stella Gibbon?

- Gwynnie on addiction - bound to be some potential for ridiculousness? Tie into Bonne Maman Petits Pots à la Crème?

- Etiquette of neighbour providing his bank account details for donations with invitation to birthday party.

- Allude obliquely to all-consuming chaos of internalised elephant stampede? Too crap and annoying?

- Further thoughts on the Belgian workplace ref. trip to garage to view Euromaster's new car.

If you have any interest in any of these I will pursue one or more of them tomorrow. If you have alternative suggestions, then by all means make them. I can write to order like a semi-skilled performing monkey, even if I can't dredge an original thought out of the debris in my head.

* Thank you, Vanessa, for your suggestion.


Anonymous said...

I'd love to hear more about your neighbour's (lack of) etiquette in soliciting donations for the birthday party. That sounds particularly odd and/or Belgian.

Emma Burns said...

Read Meg Cabot. I'm serious, it's the only thing that got me through this hell of a year. Princess Diaries and all, just start at the beginning and go.

It may have something to do with my utter teenager-ness when under stress. The drama! The angst! The drama about the angst! The angst about the drama!

Whatever it is, she's magic and will cure what ails you.

kathycastro said...

Sneaking to bed. Reading list. Neighbour. Elephants. Euromaster. Many thanks!

Oh, and I would like to recommend "Sharp Objects" by Gillian Flynn for some more palatable reading. It's light (well, as light as a murder in the family can be) but very enjoyable, and you will rip through it in a couple of days.

Mutter said...

I think this whole penance thang has gone a bit far, don't you? None of us, well me at least, are in the slightest bit bothered about the Pontypines. Let 'em go!
Sneaking to bed and weird neighbour please.

Red Shoes said...

Poor darling. I, too, suffer from migraines and it is the most terrible, terrible time. Worse than surgery even, I think. Terrible. I hope it's well and gone and can get back to feeling normalesque.

Anonymous said...

Your neighbour did... wha?!

And Plum is never, under any circumstances, a bad decision.

katyboo1 said...

Are these the same neighbours that forced you to go to a hideous new year's party and charged you for the privilege? Or is this something that many Belgian neighbours do when having a party? Clearly I need to know more about Belgian party rituals. Proceed.

Also, yes. That book the other day when you went fishing sounded ghastly. Return to frivolous material immediately.

Pochyemu said...

Tell us all the juicy stuff. Make your tagline 'BELGIAN WAFFLE: NOTHING BUT JUICE!' and transform this space into one utterly devoted to gossipy, tantilizing morsels of lovely juicyness (juiciness? Joosymess).

I used to think I was above gossip, but now that I've made girlfriends I realize I am just another of gossip's slavish bitches.

bevchen said...

Weird neighbour please.

I'm with Maggie on the teenage books. Not necessarily Meg Cabot (never read any of those so I can't really comment) but the Georgia Nicolson books by Louise Rennison are a MUST read. Start with Angus, Thongs and Full-Frontal snogging and work your way through.

Laura said...

Try The Return by Victoria Hislop - despite being about the Spanish Civil War it is really rather good and not depressing. After contemplating suicide while reading Revolutionary Road the other week this book cheered me right up.

Jessica K said...

I just want to say since I got Gwynnies email that the line about feeding your souls thirst with a teaspoon has been worked into my conversation daily to (my) endless amusement.

Juci said...

I'm not sure I haven't recommended this to you before, but 'Glennkill' by Leonie Swann is very amusing. Talking sheep trying to solve a murder case. What else do you need?
Or, for more frivolous reading, as katyboo suggested, I recommend 'The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters' by G. W. Dahlquist. It is a slightly erotic Victorian steampunk adventure novel, and although that sounds very confusing, it makes very thrilling reading. I can even lend it to you, if you like, although I won't be back in the land of chicons for another two weeks.

Waffle said...

Pinklea - done. after the party I will give you a full report back.

Maggie - seriously? I find that terribly hard to believe. Should I suspend my scepticism?

Kathy - thank you. Off to Amazon it right now. Family murder, you say?

Wife in HK - damn those ponkypines (as the CFO calls them)

Red Shoes - yes, but those first hours when it's over and you feel all drained but alive, I rather love. Does that make me a weirdo?

HFF - I know. I KNOW. Yes, PG Wodehouse always helps. Always. The mere thought of a small but serviceable rubber cosh gives me a little thrill of joy.

katyboo - it was AWFUL. Well written but desperately grim. It was one of my miraculous free books, thrust on me by the lovely Lydia, but it nearly did for me.

Pochyemu - I will try. Hopefully tonight's ghastly party will provide some material.

Bevchen - teenage books? Really? This is WEIRD.

Laura & Ben - thank you. I like book recommendations. The problem is not so much that I don't have more cheerful reading matter, but that I seem to be horribly drawn to The Grim at the moment..

Jessica k -she rarely lets us down, does she? It's even better when the gurus weigh in with their nonsense.

Juci - 'erotic victorian steampunk adventure novel' is an IRRESISTIBLE description. You are inspired.

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