sheldrake

I have been feeling particularly uncoordinated today. I was extra careful to be extra careful whilst handling coffee cups etc, and fumbled around with bits of paper a lot. On the way back from the bus stop I tripped on the kerb and fell, skinning my hands and bashing my knees up right good. If I'd been a racehorse, they'd have had to have shot me. Luckily I am not a racehorse.

Then I nearly did it again less than five minutes later.

Swelling and stinging went on to occur in large measures, and continue to occur.

Finished Toast and it was right good. It made me feel hungry and occasionally sick and then hungry again. Now I would like some chef slash please.

When I bought Toast I also bought The Arabian Nights. I blame lobelia321 for this.

Probably my last day at work tomorrow. I will not be sad to leave the New Person, henceforth known as C. C manages to be both insane and dull. She is allergic to being told things by people younger than her (ie everyone in the building). We've learnt that it is best not to talk to C, as you will be drawn into a horrifying monologue about the cats she stole from other people in the neighbourhood (she goes home at lunchtime to 'tuck them in'), her husband and his carpentry jobs, her one hundred and six craft magazines, her handbags, and her various health problems. She has a phobia of money, will not park on the grass in case she hurts insects and punctuates any attempt to teach her Photoshop with remarks about how similar it is to her crossstitch programme. She slathers her hands in hand-cream every five minutes. It makes the room smell of, variously, cabbage, old lager, antiseptic ointment and a musty seaside souvenir shop I once went in when I was nine.

*sigh* It's no good -- it is impossible to convey the true horror of C.

Do you ever get a bit sick of subtext? Sometimes I just want it to be text and have done with it.

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