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Saturday, 10 June 2017

In which its a cruel world...

Am plagued by dreams of homelessness night after night...

Quite often returning to the first flat I bought and lived in for a year, before embarking upon my endless moves and odd, unsatisfying couplings.

I was the first woman in my family to have reached the lofty heights of owning my own home and now I'm losing it.

'Most men would be intimidated by you,' someone once said to me. I imagine that was a size related remark and it's got me thinking.

I've never met a chap who didn't think he was attractive. Even the most unappealing of coves feels at liberty to make derogatory remarks about women's looks. Size being a favourite topic.

'I thought I was big until I saw you,' said one unpleasant old item who was old enough to know better, when I first came to live here.

One suitor once said he'd only taken up with me because he'd got a bit fat so had to consider less than perfect partnerage.

Blimey, I'm certainly one of life's consolation prizes!

Not that I care, Dear Reader, I couldn't give a feck.

It's just quite interesting to recall it all and write it down to give myself something to read when I'm on my lonely park bench.

I don't feel sorry for myself though. It is what it is and I am what I am.

And what I am is the culmination of poor choices and a lifetime of the wrong road taken. Still, I've never been deliberately unkind to man or beast, so I'll hang up the hair shirt, paint me face on and biff up the shops for a paper to read about better men than me who've had their lives brought to an abrupt end by the evil of others.

We're all going to he'll in a hand cart.

Sunday, 4 June 2017

In which it's back to work for me...

Back to work re-energized by 20hrs kip per day for a week. That can't be right, can it, Dear Reader? Even for a personage as ancient as me.

The past two day's sleep have been punctuated by dashes to the bog for projectile vomiting excursions.  The kind I thought were the preserve of the very young, but no. Was seduced by a marked down pizza for tea the other night and got food poisoning.

On the plus side, uniform trouserage did up a bit more easily this morning, so, every cloud and all that...

Should be extra lovely in SOP House today with the windows closed against the inclement weather.

Oh well, seems I was destined to clear up after the sick and needy. Could have done with a carer of my own lately though.

Never mind, shall biff off and cheer somebody up today. Plaster pin a false smile and get on with it.

The world has gone quite mad and taken me with it.

Saturday, 3 June 2017

In which am miserable all the time...

It was National Fish and Chip Day yesterday...

In The Underground Lair it was National Fish Finger (singular) and Low Fat (cheapest from the Co op) Chip Day.

Back to work on Monday. Have wasted the whole week sleeping and, when awake, worrying.

Really do need to get some purpose in life before it's too late...

Perhaps should get a hobby/pet/religion...

Or should concentrate on growing even fatter and sell self to travelling circus. Would make lovely spectacle in side show tent, what with rippling thighs, gargantuan upper arms, comedy stomach and post menopausal super-floo-us beard.

Or...

Could devote self to stray cats.  No. Can't afford the Kit-e-Kat.

Perhaps religion then.  Not awfully keen on Christianity though.  Maybe try that lot who wear the long orange robes and biff about singing Hare Krishna. Will ultimately need a religion that encourages the wearing of body obliterating clothing. 

No. Not quite bonkers enough for that yet...

That leaves a hobby...

Might try painting...

Oh no, that's me other job...

It's no good, am just utter misery guts with no purpose in life...

Shall just continue to tend to the sick and needy until I need to get a room.

Thursday, 1 June 2017

In which am obsessed...

That's me, that is, Dear Reader, looking over the garden wall to see if the grass is greener on the other side...

I expect it is...

Have now got fourteen weeks exactly until become sixty.  Have resolved to live a Pinot and fag free existence at least until then.

Sitting alone on the second hand sofa quaffing Pinot of an evening isn't doing it for me anymore.  Granted, working in care does rather render one a drink swilling, fag smoking sort, just as a means of survival from day to ghastly day, but, before it's too late, change must come.

Have been on hols, at home, this week, but am just lolling around kipping me life away.

I just can't come to terms with Buttgate. I wish I could, but it's all so unjust, what with the water still dripping down the back wall. AND. Have just been informed that my nemesis actually owns the flat that it's dripping from.

There she sits using our money for her own personal vendettas and there's not a thing I can do about it.

Get over it. Get a life. Or get even some other way.