I don’t have a lot to say this week, because I’ve having one of those days. One of those days where it takes a million times longer than normal to do anything. One of those days where nothing seems to be going right. One of those days where you want to bang your head against a brick wall, repeatedly, for about six hours. One of those days where you listen to Pink Floyd for far too long and far too loudly just to convince yourself that everything will in fact be okay.
I have what seems like 700 hundred things to do next week, including my mother’s birthday, a rabies jab, and a four day hike in the welsh mountains, and I do not feel even remotely prepared. There’s also the third attempt at a car boot sale that involves me having to wake up at 5, or maybe even earlier, tomorrow morning, and I just feel entirely disenfranchised with the whole idea. I want to sleep. I want to go back and have an episode of doctor who that isn’t over-complicated with religious metaphors, and just doesn’t suck. I want to curl up with chocolate and fluffy bunnies.
I think this is fast becoming dreary and disheartening. Please excuse me, I’m having one of those days.