I sat shivering [yes, shivering] at the bus station this evening. I’d forgotten to bring a book to read and had already indulged in the reading of Chat – which is a daft and mind-numbing magazine aimed at Chavettes – so I had nothing left to do but think.
I think-ed [I know it’s not a real word, sheesh!] about how tomorrow is the end of the restructure consultation period at work, and how this redundancy lark has stressed everybody out. Even me, and I’m not still not actually worried about losing my job. It has rather been The Liza Show! though. I can’t be arsed to explain that further because it would bore you muchly, just as it has bored myself and the other TAs muchly.
I think-ed about the constant rain and how my poor little tootsies were exposed to the chilling dampness. It wouldn’t be half as bad if it was summer rain, but it appears to be rain that is more suited to late March or early April – chilly and wet.
I think-ed about how my poor pussy would be sopping wet when I arrived home. I was right.
I think-ed about all the nasty people who have passed on their germs to me and made my throat think I’ve swallowed a collection of rusty razor blades. Damn them.
I think-ed about how snuggly it must have been inside my mummy’s tummy and wondered why I ever came out. I decided I must have left her tummy so that each year I could have a birthday and get presents. I mention this purely because tomorrow I shall be celebrating the anniversary of the day of my birth, manymanymany years ago. There are presents on the table.
I think-ed about how nice it was that the bus had turned up, and then I stopped thinking and cosied up to the window and drifted in and out of sleep whilst listening to Muse. Why do bus drivers feel the need to whack the heating up in summer and leave it off in winter? Silly buggers. Humpf.
please God help my illness make a swift exit when it feels the wrath of Lemsip later xxx Elsabeth
I fell asleep this afternoon which turned out to be a bloody ridiculous thing to do because I woke up [or rather, was woken up by The Blokey who was gently tapping on my shoulder telling me that The Simpsons was on, which went oddly with the dream I was having] with a splitting headache.
This may have had something to do with the fact that when I lay down on the fresh clean sheets of my bed to stroke my pussy [who, incidently, decided that toddling off downstairs to get some attention off her daddy was much more fun] I was in a bit of a mood. Oh Elizabeth! A bit? Well no. I was in a stonkingly bad nobody loves me, everybody hates me, blah blah worms, blah blah heads off mood. And I was a little tearful. That’s a genuine little, not an understated little.
Oh the joys of womanhood. And I can’t even blame it on PMT. I’m just a genuinely moody/emotional cow.
And the space bar on my keyboard is decidedly sticky. Which is sticky in the it-sticks sense rather than the my-fingers-were-sticky-first sense.
Humpf. I actually blame the weather. It’s icky weather; it has had more mood changes in the last week than a <insert sexist comment>. The icky weather has obviously contributed to all the evils in my own personal little world. Why won’t the kitchen fitter answer his mobile, thus creating more panic for an already telephone phobic person? Why am I the last one to find out about family events? Do I actually exist? Why did I have that odd dream about a [semi-]famous child getting his head chopped off by a lorry? Why doesn’t The Blokey understand that the question do you even want to help me tidy up? should not be answered with the word no and a look of confusion? Why am I now wishing I hadn’t applied for that other job? … Obviously it’s the weather, d’uh!
Still, I was cheered up immensely, albeit briefly, this evening whilst watching the Big Brother VIII highlights show. That Essex Geezer Brian’s English teacher should be sacked – how can you reach the grand old age of nineteen in England and not have heard of Shakespeare? What is happening to the education system in this country? pffft …
please God bless Shakespeare for using words that Brian doesn’t understand even though they were written a million zillion years ago [which is a long long time] xxx Elsabeth