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Jul. 1st, 2008 12:33 pmThank you for yesterday's niceness.
Today, alas, I'm my normal self because we have a problem with wind in Canberra. All that fresh air ought to be good, except that the wind brings with it allergens and headaches because the autumn allergens haven't quite been processed through the regional biosystems yet and because the wind is weather-change stuff and weather-change stuff makes me ache.
The weather also brought with it early onset PMT. I can't tell what causes which aches and allergies, to be honest; everything has meshed together neatly in my body and my body thinks it's part of a rapidly-failing scientific experiment. Yes, I know my body is deluded, but you try telling it that. It just won't listen.
PMT ought to be banned. Nights containing just two hours sleep ought to be extended till the sleep deficit no longer exists. And I probably need a special cupboard this week so that no-one has to deal with me. Unless you're addicted to snark. I am so very good at snark today that I could win an Olympic medal in it.
There is good in this grump. The whole shebang makes my body heat diminish and at 36.1 degrees means that I need no heater and - in fact - no leggings. Just as long as no-one drops in unexpectedly I can pretend it's coming on for summer already and celebrate the luxury of warmth.
This all started last night, to be honest. My immediate solution was to watch To Kill a Mockingbird again, but Gregory Peck reminds me so much of a glamourised version of my father that I gave up after a few minutes and bugged my best friend to tell me about early childhood in the South, instead. Eventually she had to go to work and I was left thinking "I need to do something special this August." My father will have been dead twenty years. So much for an immediate solution. My tear ducts got a workout, though. I can report that they function as promised, even if other parts of me are in need of repair.
I guess this means that my emotions are trigger-happy today. I'm not sad, though, just PMTish and hurting. I don't need sympathy. I need an agony aunt column.
Would anyone like to join me in another "This aspect of my life sucks" whinge session? It worked very well last time. We all got a bunch of plaints out of our system and went on to have good weekends. And it's July - we are all in great need of good weeks.
In the meantime, I shall find a way to make coffee (you don't want to know what happened to my coffee pot - it will live, but it so needs significant deodorisation before I use it again) and contemplate my secret chocolate hoard.
I don't actually want to eat chocolate - I just want to relish my hoard. I wonder if I have dragon ancestry? Or don't chocolate hoards count?
Today, alas, I'm my normal self because we have a problem with wind in Canberra. All that fresh air ought to be good, except that the wind brings with it allergens and headaches because the autumn allergens haven't quite been processed through the regional biosystems yet and because the wind is weather-change stuff and weather-change stuff makes me ache.
The weather also brought with it early onset PMT. I can't tell what causes which aches and allergies, to be honest; everything has meshed together neatly in my body and my body thinks it's part of a rapidly-failing scientific experiment. Yes, I know my body is deluded, but you try telling it that. It just won't listen.
PMT ought to be banned. Nights containing just two hours sleep ought to be extended till the sleep deficit no longer exists. And I probably need a special cupboard this week so that no-one has to deal with me. Unless you're addicted to snark. I am so very good at snark today that I could win an Olympic medal in it.
There is good in this grump. The whole shebang makes my body heat diminish and at 36.1 degrees means that I need no heater and - in fact - no leggings. Just as long as no-one drops in unexpectedly I can pretend it's coming on for summer already and celebrate the luxury of warmth.
This all started last night, to be honest. My immediate solution was to watch To Kill a Mockingbird again, but Gregory Peck reminds me so much of a glamourised version of my father that I gave up after a few minutes and bugged my best friend to tell me about early childhood in the South, instead. Eventually she had to go to work and I was left thinking "I need to do something special this August." My father will have been dead twenty years. So much for an immediate solution. My tear ducts got a workout, though. I can report that they function as promised, even if other parts of me are in need of repair.
I guess this means that my emotions are trigger-happy today. I'm not sad, though, just PMTish and hurting. I don't need sympathy. I need an agony aunt column.
Would anyone like to join me in another "This aspect of my life sucks" whinge session? It worked very well last time. We all got a bunch of plaints out of our system and went on to have good weekends. And it's July - we are all in great need of good weeks.
In the meantime, I shall find a way to make coffee (you don't want to know what happened to my coffee pot - it will live, but it so needs significant deodorisation before I use it again) and contemplate my secret chocolate hoard.
I don't actually want to eat chocolate - I just want to relish my hoard. I wonder if I have dragon ancestry? Or don't chocolate hoards count?