You know that life is in a funk when …
Being on half-term really freaks me out. Whilst I’m working all I can do is count down the days till the holidays, and yet when it is the holidays I find myself becoming absolutely and intoxicatingly dull.
That’s B-O-R-I-N-G, dull.
I’m so unmotivated. I had so much that I could have been doing. Like painting the kitchen walls [the lounge is taking a back seat because I’m still searching for the exact shade of orange-y red-y that I desperately want]. However, I’m not really much of a decorator. In fact, the only thing that is probably more off-putting to me than actually decorating is having to watch the blasted paint dry afterwards.
I also need to phone a man so that he can come and service
me my boiler [just to make sure we’re not consuming vast amounts of carbon monoxide, you understand], and I still need to buy presents for The Blokey’s birthday, and then there’s the matter of the electoral roll and whether we’re on it. Ack.
I can’t even find it in me to actually read. And I love reading. Hence Thud! is still only halfway finished.
It pains me greatly to say it but I think I need my routine. My day is more or less planned when I’m working and weekends are more fun as The Blokey is around and I can annoy him. But when I have no routine attached to my day everything just seems to pass by in a blur, but a long blur, the type of blur that lasts for longer than a normal blur … it’s not a nice blur. It leaves me tired and cranky.
Of course, none of this is helped by those fucking antibiotics messing up my digestive system. Grrr.
And nor is it helped by me whacking my fist against my mouth in a fit of sleepiness whilst still in bed.
But Old Battleaxe Beattie from next door just popped round. I hate having to answer the door, particularly when I’m not even dressed and haven’t brushed my hair [I’m on holiday, dammit – although I didn’t brush my hair yesterday either, just swept it up off my face when I went out, and it looked damn fine sexy, but now it’s all tangled and I must have a shower once this is posted], nor put my face on. I knew it was her because I couldn’t see the person through the window. She’s really short, like a hobbit. She saw my windows were open and came to check that I was in because apparently a lady over the road got burgled the other week. OBB is convinced that some scallywags tried to get in her front door the other night and she used the word “piss” – *gasp*. It’s always funny when old folk swear.
Ack, I’m not worried about burglars. I have a cat to scare them off. Well, she might hide behind the tellybox and glare at them to stop them stealing it.
Our fish won’t stop having babies.
My kitchen floor needs a good scrub.
I wish it was Christmas.
The Nephew With No Name has now been given a name. Toben. I can’t find a meaning, but I’m peeved that they’ve come up with something more unusual. It means I’ll have to work harder on choosing names when I have a baby.
[this post comes to you from somewhere random, like LaLaLand]
please God bless the folk who have to read the mindless drivel that exists on xanga xxx Elsabeth