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.