The axe is MOST CERTAINLY grinding

It’s quite phantastic.

I am heading towards what constitutes one of the toughest days of my life (yes, I was born on a Monday). I haven’t slept nor eaten in 48 hours, I have to meet a four hour dead line (I am writing this at 0400 hrs GMT) having to accomplish something that takes mere mortals days. I am not joking. I allowed myself a twenty minute liedown ca 0200 hrs only to be kicked ass by son who asserted that I cannot afford to go to sleep; how right he is. He recommended speed to keep me going – what do I need speed for? I am running on adrenalin.

To top it all – and I am annoyed about it – I’ve just started a hiccup.

U

PS Sweethearts, should you ever find yourself in a shithole and feel need to block out thoughts, feelings, anything in order to get the job done, don’t opt for Schubert, play Motorhead – full blast. It does wonders. Thanks, Lemmy.

Whom the axe grinds

Many things pain me at the moment.

Not least that I ever wrote an entry titled ”Lederhosen”. It’s a hit and I don’t understand why. Maybe I could do a “Dirndl” or an “Oktoberfest” to challenge the nether regions in popularity stakes. 

Kinder, Kinder, ich bin so kaputt. Finito, Basta, Fertig. Still, as I said to friend this morning: Nothing and no one, other than death, will bring me to my knees, ever. Thus, in the immortal words of Elton John who I don’t particularly like though, no doubt, we would make polite conversation, might even amuse each other, when sat next to each other at a dinner: I’m still standing.

For months and months after months I have been heading into the darkest of tunnels hoping to see that famous light at the end of it. As it is, I am holding a torch but have run out of batteries.

Help.

U

Wisdom – required

One needs to know when to quit.

Unfortunately, I don’t. As character defects go roughly on par with visiting the dentist. Not that there is ever anything wrong with my teeth (other than that I have just lost a crown).

In your opinions: Is “persistence” (within the parameters of endless patience and hope) a virtue or just one hell of a waste of time?

U

Years of well honeyed optimism

I have to learn to be the sophisticated woman I am perceived as.

In the meantime let my hot, salty, searing tears of utter disappointment with the shithole that life and its inhabitants manage to be at times fall on stony ground. I didn’t think it possible, until recently, to utter words like the previous. Now it’s reality.

One good friend perceived yesterday (she is Californian, my son’s father’s wife and Polyanna re-incarnated): If I were in your position I’d have most likely killed myself by now.

Cut to the chase.

Recently my life feels like a Hitchcock movie; maybe Sean Connery (Marnie) could rescue me, or that awful ginger haired London strangler might put an end to it all. I don’t want to be killed (particularly not with a tie by someone who peddles potatoes); Rhett Butler might, for a change, agree that tomorrow will be another day. Unlike him I can’t say “I don’t give a damn” (such a marvellous line). I do – give one hell of a damn.

U

Things are going to get a lot worse before they get worse

If there is one among the few things in my life I hate with a vengeance it’s DELAY. 

I want instant gratification. NOW. That’s why I hate wordpress. First you press something wrong, only to be given a new password that takes Einstein’s brain, Felix’s ingeniousness and VOASF’s finely tuned sense of how to remember anything off the cuff. Make that an elusive piece of paper on my desk. To the tune of French “I ate it, I ate it, I ate it”. If only I weren’t throwing up all the time.

It’s interesting how the body digests grief.

U