Something odd happened in my sleep.
A giant stepped on my lower back , the evil virus fairy scattered small black nasties into my respiratory tract, an energy-vampire sucked out my life-force and the god of cotton wool removed my brains and stuffed my skull.
In addition, I came up with a bad hand from the dream-team. Nightmare weddings, cats dying, fights with family and of course, spiders with intent.
This afternoon I have an appointment with the wonderful woman making my wedding dress. This is exceptionally bad timing . Right now I am utterly disinterested in weddings and dresses and untterly incapable of enthusing over anything at all.
What I would like to do is trawl through other peoples blogs all day and read about interesting things from humans that feel better than I do.
Lydgate is currently being collected by Mr. This means I have to go put on a bra and attempt to do my hair. I also have a standing obligation to feed his-royal-skinniness and a dread fear of the sharp things in my kitchen. I wonder if they'll mind porridge?
Bras are bad.
It has stopped raining and misting on top of everything else. This makes me unaccountably morose. Most of my soundtracks only work in the rain. I need to play some kind of music though. 'Black Betty' is playing ad nauseum in my cotton-wool brain, and I have spent hours pondering racism.
OK. Deep breath. Find bra. Apply fabulous lipstick. 'twil be OK.
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