Self pity is never attractive. I know this but it’s not stopping me having a good old wallow in it at the moment.
Feel free to move on to a less miserable blog, this one is preparing to be a proper moan fest. It won’t even be a properly structured and written post (is it ever?). Instead it’s just going to be a stream of consciousness straight from my brain to your screen.
There is not much I can say without gossiping about other peoples’ lives. Hhhmmm.
I’m not a big fan of spreading stories about the misfortune of others. Let’s just leave this part with: Fate can be a nasty bitch sometimes.
That just leaves the stream of consciousness bit then.
I know I’ve reached my stress limit when I can’t string a coherent sentence together. Stress limit? What’s that? Where is my stress limit now?
Buggered if I know. I left that behind so long ago I can’t even remember where I left it.
I’m now at the point of burbling like a fool, it took me at least five attempts to say the word ‘envelope’ yesterday, and blubbing like a baby every two minutes, my stomach is tied in knots and my poor brain just can’t absorb anything.
Why can’t life just spread the bad stuff out a bit instead of throwing it all at us at once?
A psychologist once said, and I quote: “If you think you aren’t coping then you really are coping. It’s the ones who don’t know they’re not coping who end up in hospital.”
Well that’s ok then. I don’t need to pack my nightie and toothbrush after all. Maybe the men in white coats aren’t quite as close behind me as I thought.
Excuse me now, I have to go and sit in a corner and rock for a while – about two months should do it.