Aw man. I have wasted this entire weekend. And not "I spent the whole time at the beach"-wasted. I mean "I spent the whole time playing scrabble and reading the newspaper online while hunched up at my desk like a banker in a Dickens novel"-wasted.
The worst part is that I have no-one but myself to blame. One of my many character flaws is that if something in the Big Picture is worrying me, I become paralyzed with uncertainty and unable to focus on anything purposeful in the Small Picture. For example, while the Cold War was on, I neglected my personal hygiene. And the Global Financial Crises has resulted in my CD collection becoming parlously higgledy-piggledy.
So since this whole weekend I have been fretting and angsting about something (that I am not to go into here) I haven't been able to do anything more complex than make cheese on toast and listen to the Culture Club's hits from the 80's. Normally I would totally go for that kind of thing, but when it's forced upon you it's torture, as I'm sure those of you who were around in the 80's could attest to.
Well it's only 27 minutes until tomorrow. I'm sure there'll be a vast improvement in my situation when the clock strikes 12. Perhaps a cauldron of gold will plummet through my roof, or I will be awarded a Nobel Prize for blogging, or I'll make lots of magical friends and we'll have fantastic adventures in pixie-land. I'll let you know.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
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