I don’t help myself, do I. Another Sunday morning with a nasty head, stimulant medication and a life of misery.
Usually I’d be trying to squeeze a trite, positive-yet-extremely-tenuous-and-tangential, point from my experience but sometimes it’s all too much and all you can do is hunker down and wait for the storm to pass.
Regular readers will know about the rollercoaster year of tension at SEN, deciding to start afresh and the tragedies of personal meltdowns and deaths of friends and family. Throw in life happening to me and you’ve got a heady cocktail of a lot of badness punctuated with hope and the occasional glimmer of joy.
A real standout was my birthday – I got mega stressed out with the lead up to it, and the ‘big number’ horror, but it was an absolute joy with friends and family making it an absolute blast. Thanks again to those that made it happen.
But this week it’s the grindstone of getting on with ‘stuff’. I hate when there are definite things to be done to deadline with the overlie of MOTHER coming to stay for a while, which depends on what happens when, and the involvement of third parties which is completely out of control.
Surely it’s time for a bit of joy?
My siblings turned up last night bearing curry so I raided my store of wine. And what does wine like? MORE wine! Fun at the time but not in the morning.
Christmas could go either way and new year will be especially poignant with the definite absence of people who were at the last one.
For now I’m going to hide behind my rock with my hard hat on and hope that there isn’t another direct hit.