Everything is shit. I mean, it isn't, probably but it feels like that today. And yesterday. And most of last week. What? Also, in the wider world, it is clearly shit, so actually, let's stick with the initial statement.
Ingratitude Journal (with apologies/thanks to Ganching who did it first)
Faced with the Reichenbach Falls of translation, I am doing nothing more productive than staring at the grey sky (I'm fine with grey sky, I welcome it, that is not part of the shitness) and occasionally quietly whispering "I hate everyone" and "fuck everything".
Family Life I will not go further, much as I might wish to because Family Life Omertà must be maintained except when Insta-messaging one's best friend from the lavatory in the dead of night whilst cry-laugh-crying.
Just spoilered myself for Fake or Fortune - the thought of which is the only thing keeping me going many days - because of following my fantasy husband Philip Mould on Twitter (no regrets though).
Quoted very punchily for a couple of jobs on my spouse's advice and as a result have no work or money (I still think he was right but I have €8 in my bank account before my (holiday) credit card bill goes through). I genuinely can't quite see how to earn a living at the moment. I can't be entirely unskilled, but my skills such as they are are not highly valued in monetary terms in 2017.
Regarding the above, I have resolved to pitch more, but what this means concretely is a momentary feeling of achievement followed by hours of feeling shit, when my tentative pitch ("here is something you might possibly, conceivably, be interested in?") is met with a big fat horrified no ("why are you offering us the decomposing corpse of a subway rat, what is wrong with you, you fucking halfwit, also we covered decomposing rat corpses frequently this year, why the fuck didn't you do your research", this is how it feels to me anyway). This is ... emotionally challenging. I will persist. I have it in mind to try and be more male about work stuff.
Quite fat after Yorkshire holiday of Tunnocks Teacakes, gin and crisps so have Tight Trouser Gloom/Rage.
I note also, that on closer examination these trousers are covered in weird brownish green stains. Bird shit? Yorkshire gunk?
It's the time of the year where everything bites me so I'm scratching like a flea-ridden dog.
My scrubby old hen has decided to make it her life's mission to kill my new hens. Every time I think things have calmed down, there's a flurry of screeching and feathers and I have to run outside and make peace with mealworms and cardboard boxes.
Ok, this is only one of them, but I can't get a decent pic of the pair of them together and the other one is squeakier and faster. I love them.
As you can see, I have nothing funny or interesting to say which is why I have stayed away. If that changes, I will be sure to let you know. I will probably let you know if things continue to be shit too.