Bleah …
Yes, it's still raining, and to make my world even happier and just filled with buckets of fluffy kittens and chocolate boobies I've been down with Man Flu since Sunday and it sucks.
Pounding headache, throat so sore I can't speak, occasional vomiting, a fucking painful hacking phlegmy cough that wouldn't disgrace a lifelong eighty-a-day smoker, a raging, sweaty, no-sleep fever, snot and sneezes pouring out of my face like Linda Blair projectile vomiting and an all-over ache like I've just got a good kicking.
Of course, any woman would shrug this off as a mild sniffle, but hey! I am the weaker sex and I'm gonna milk it for all it's worth.
Shit, I feel so crappy I can't even face alcohol. I need hugs and sympathy but in real life that only happens to other people so I'll just fill myself full of drugs and crawl back under the duvet.
See you when I surface. Oh, and look out for flying snot.
Showing posts with label Knackered. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Knackered. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 09, 2012
Thursday, March 08, 2007
What Is All This Crap?
I did that stupid "Visual DNA" quiz thing that Sassy and Robyn have done.
Only Blogger told me there was an error in the html so I can't post it.
Well bugger Blogger, bugger "Visual DNA" and bugger html with a splintered gatepost.
If anybody is remotely interested in what the quiz results said about me, I'll paraphrase them for you:
I am a fat, ugly, balding, extremely overtired and irritable forty-eight year old loser who hasn't had sex since the Boer War and isn't ever likely to again. And I hate quizzes.
Nothing we didn't already know.
Stupid fucking quiz.
Only Blogger told me there was an error in the html so I can't post it.
Well bugger Blogger, bugger "Visual DNA" and bugger html with a splintered gatepost.
If anybody is remotely interested in what the quiz results said about me, I'll paraphrase them for you:
I am a fat, ugly, balding, extremely overtired and irritable forty-eight year old loser who hasn't had sex since the Boer War and isn't ever likely to again. And I hate quizzes.
Nothing we didn't already know.
Stupid fucking quiz.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
The Circadian Rhythm Method
Let's update that pesky Brontë bird, shall we?
"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in
possession of a bloody good job and a nice house (and who also irons), must be in want of a wife/partner/girlfriend/shag/good cuddle/whatever."
Thankfully, now that I'm back in the hectic routine of commuter hell, the lonelies seem to have receded a bit.
Before I expand on that, I feel I must apologise to my dear blogpals for my appalling mood swings over the past week or so.
While they've certainly brought in the old comments - 46 yesterday, 55 the day before - I don't really enjoy bouncing from euphoria to despair every few hours.
And then yesterday, exhaustion hit me … BAM!
I know some people pay good money to experience those effects. Well, they're welcome to 'em. They fuck me up big time.
After two lovely weeks of natural circadian rhythms (groovy), my poor old body is going through the transition shock of getting back into the old "4:40AM leap screaming out of bed/seven hour commute with a full working day in the middle/get home knackered, check my posts and tumble into bed" routine.
The first few days back after a break are always hard and my body gets its revenge by kicking my brain around my skull until I don't know which way is up. Hence the mood swings followed by exhaustion. It's like jet-lag, only nastier.
The one good side-effect of all this is that I now don't have time to get miserable and lonely. It seems that if I keep moving and keep busy, I can keep the lonelies at bay. Depression can't be arsed to catch up with me; it's too much like hard work.
The down side of course, is that loneliness lies in wait, ready to drag me down into despair whenever I so much as stop for a breather. Douglas Adams was right about Sunday afternoons: "The long, dark teatime of the soul" …
I've learned to do my ironing then; around tea time, in front of something funny like a Red Dwarf DVD.
So basically, I've not really got anything to say this morning other than I'm exhausted, but gradually getting back into my routine, and that even with all of your wonderful dating advice over the past week I still don't have a clue about how to find my "wife/partner/girlfriend/shag/good cuddle/whatever."
Hey ho … Same old same old Dive …
"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in
possession of a bloody good job and a nice house (and who also irons), must be in want of a wife/partner/girlfriend/shag/good cuddle/whatever."
Thankfully, now that I'm back in the hectic routine of commuter hell, the lonelies seem to have receded a bit.
Before I expand on that, I feel I must apologise to my dear blogpals for my appalling mood swings over the past week or so.
While they've certainly brought in the old comments - 46 yesterday, 55 the day before - I don't really enjoy bouncing from euphoria to despair every few hours.
And then yesterday, exhaustion hit me … BAM!
I know some people pay good money to experience those effects. Well, they're welcome to 'em. They fuck me up big time.
After two lovely weeks of natural circadian rhythms (groovy), my poor old body is going through the transition shock of getting back into the old "4:40AM leap screaming out of bed/seven hour commute with a full working day in the middle/get home knackered, check my posts and tumble into bed" routine.
The first few days back after a break are always hard and my body gets its revenge by kicking my brain around my skull until I don't know which way is up. Hence the mood swings followed by exhaustion. It's like jet-lag, only nastier.
The one good side-effect of all this is that I now don't have time to get miserable and lonely. It seems that if I keep moving and keep busy, I can keep the lonelies at bay. Depression can't be arsed to catch up with me; it's too much like hard work.
The down side of course, is that loneliness lies in wait, ready to drag me down into despair whenever I so much as stop for a breather. Douglas Adams was right about Sunday afternoons: "The long, dark teatime of the soul" …
I've learned to do my ironing then; around tea time, in front of something funny like a Red Dwarf DVD.
So basically, I've not really got anything to say this morning other than I'm exhausted, but gradually getting back into my routine, and that even with all of your wonderful dating advice over the past week I still don't have a clue about how to find my "wife/partner/girlfriend/shag/good cuddle/whatever."
Hey ho … Same old same old Dive …
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Enough, Already
My God. What have I done?
I've just got back from work and seen the comment total from my last post. I'm not even going to bother to open it as I have a good idea about what's in there and its not pretty.
As Sassy has pointed out, we children have got a little overexcited and need to calm down.
I admit I kind of asked for it and apologise for that, but I've had a knackering journey home and now I just want a nice sit down with a glass of wine before bed … and no more debauchery …
So I'm putting the toys back in the box. If you'd like to tiptoe quietly out and go play at Mister Knudsen's house, I'm sure he would be glad to accommodate you.
He has posted a lovely picture of some kittens.
Nighty-night …
I've just got back from work and seen the comment total from my last post. I'm not even going to bother to open it as I have a good idea about what's in there and its not pretty.
As Sassy has pointed out, we children have got a little overexcited and need to calm down.
I admit I kind of asked for it and apologise for that, but I've had a knackering journey home and now I just want a nice sit down with a glass of wine before bed … and no more debauchery …
So I'm putting the toys back in the box. If you'd like to tiptoe quietly out and go play at Mister Knudsen's house, I'm sure he would be glad to accommodate you.
He has posted a lovely picture of some kittens.
Nighty-night …
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