I don't have much time, so I'm just going to do some complaining. Please join in in the comments. You know it feels good.
1. My skin is terrible again and I can’t leave it alone. There are two adolescent boys in this house and they BOTH have fewer spots than me, how can this possibly be? I even bought some of the face stuff various of you recommended when I was last moaning about my skin, but it seems to be making everything worse. Or that might be the amount of Dairy Milk I am eating.
2. I have sinusitis and feel like I am underwater, except also the water I am under is magic water that has the power to make you REMARKABLY STUPID.
3. My new chicken water thingy is terrible, an awful design, which keeps emptying itself and sending me into puny, toddler-style impotent rages. Whilst I was mid-rage this morning, a crow ate one of the eggs I had left on top of the chicken house.
4. I have committed at some significant expense to do a thing with my family when really I wanted to do it BY MYSELF. IN SILENCE. Much more cheaply.
5. I left my bank card in the ticket machine at the cinema on Sunday and with 4, above, currently on my credit card have no means of obtaining cash.
6. On aforementioned cinema trip I also accidentally went to see the wrong film and was too British to fight my way through the row of pensioners to get out and go and see the right film (La La Land). The film I did see (M et Mme Adelman) was described by Le Monde as “un ratage spectaculaire” and “une funeste erreur” (spectacular failure/grave error). A great afternoon altogether.
7. I have some work now but it is the real chore kind that makes me want to watch videos of giant cockerels, or clean eating bloggers making salad, or do my VAT, or anything else at all, really.
8. Having lost the Tamagotchi of Evil (Fitbit), I sunk into terrible non-walking, Dairy Milk eating habits for a week, but I have now found it again. Which is … good? I suppose? But I quite enjoyed my lapse into #fuckit torpor and not being nagged to do 250 steps an hour. It is genuinely alarming to me how susceptible I am to the commands of my tiny wrist overlord. I will be fuck all use in the rebellion against our robot masters a few decades down the line, indeed, it looks like I will be a massive collabo. Oh, self-knowledge, you are a dubious gift.
9. Is this streaming eyes and nose scenario hayfever, already? This despite the fact that back yard is still a barren chicken ravaged wasteland, from which no pollen can be emanating.
10. I ate so much rhubarb crumble last night that my groaning, bloated stomach STILL aches. This is bad in and of itself, but also my visit to The Mean Gynaecologist is fast approaching and TMG insists on weighing you and commenting sternly if you have had the temerity to gain any weight (which CLEARLY, I have, I was quite slim 18 months ago when I last saw her due to insanity, now I am at the high point of the #fuckit curve). Rhubarb crumble binges are not the way to deal with this. I sometimes wonder if I should just refuse to let her weigh me, but I find authority figures irresistible and she is very tweedy and authoritarian indeed.
Ok, your turn.