Brain vomit
I know I've used that title before. It was just as revolting then as it is now. Hurrah that.
My Bad Cat Calendar's offering for today is likely to offend somebody, so I've covered it over with my Podlike Being. My Podlike Being's first offering for the morning is 'The Kilburn High Road'. That song always fills me with a mad desire to get filthy pissed and burn things down.
I'm not entirely certain why.
It's another song that Floggin' M play astonishingly fast live. Seriously, the corners of the room had begun to curve inwards. If the song had been another minute longer, the universe would have frayed round the edges.
I fetched my bodhrán from Margaret Murphy's this morning. She yowlled in protest and clasped frantically stool I'd set her upon when we decided we weren't speaking to one another Sunday morning. I've left her in the boot of my car. Here's to hoping the poor bitch doesn't melt - I noticed that the winds have switched back to the south. Argh. I've done with pissing summer. It's autumn now, you gorramned silly air molecules. Catch the fuck up.
I was abysmally late to the office today - in part because my head had come detached from my shoulders during the night and was rolling merrily about the house taunting the rest of me. Sure, there's a pack of lies - but it may as well have been true, for all I flollopped about and achieved near to sweet fuckall.
I'd got sort of a timetable worked out in my head. I would awaken early (which, for me, is a quarter to seven), scramble into whatever is passing for a track suit (I haven't got a proper one) this week, and leap upon my elliptical. At seven o-clock, shaddowshoes woke me by pelting me with one of the towels from Chris and Michelle's wedding. Instead of springing into action, I said (read: whinged like a bitch) 'Ngaaah?! You hit me with a towel!'
Twenty minutes later, I slogged out to the bar, moved the elliptical so that I could stare slack jawed at telly as I walked (ah, sure I know I shouldn't do that - that I should rather meditate, but I only end up Dwelling on Dark Things - rar - so it's just well I switch my brain off). Usually, when I climb up onto it, it wakes up and bids me 'hallo' in it's curious blinking way. Only today, nothing happened. That's curious sez I to myself, so I pressed a button, and it peeped.
Peep? Hang about - this doesn't make sense, electronic things only peep when...(I reach round the back of the display in search of a switch, and I find a panel to open instead) their batteries have gone flat.
Batteries. Four of them - and C batteries at that (guess what I haven't got) - in my elliptical. Yes, that elliptical - the one that should have a power supply that plugs into an outlet. Or so I thought, eh?
Well. Shite.
However, since I've made a vow to myself to take more exercise, I couldn't let the foibles of technology stand in my way. Well, sure I could have done, but I didn't. I found an aerobics videotape instead.
You know, it's damned difficult not to feel foolish when you realise that any of your neighbours who choose to walk their children to school via the alley can watch you leaping about like a moron. My door needs curtains. Oh yes. If I'm going to act the maggot for all of creation to see, then I'll do it onstage. My bar isn't a stage...well, at least it isn't one at half-seven in the morning.
I can just imagine what they're whispering behind my back - 'the creepy little monkey at number blahblahblah was getting jiggy with her bad self this morning'. Argh.
To my own credit, I think I need something a bit more challenging when it comes to actual physical exertion. To counter that, it was the grace of God alone stopped me from tumbling about in an awkward tangle of limbs and trainers. The video woman made it seem effortless - they always do. Me? If there's a dust mote in a room, I will find it and trip over it. I must have looked ridiculous. Here's the part where I remind myself that it doesn't matter how I looked, but rather that I carry on with doing it. Argh. I'm coming back as a super hero in my next life. A taller one.
After that wee bit of a debacle, I had many chats with my cadre of house cats, tripped over something else in the kitchen, and took a vow to go round the shops for batteries, something to remove the river stains from my hiking shirt (the saga continues), and...something else I forget.
Oh, right, I fed my cockatiel. Gripping, innit?
I was an unforgivable 20 minute late to the office.
'S all I got, me dearies - and to think you've just killed ten minutes of your life at reading it. Seems damned unfair, dunnit?
My Bad Cat Calendar's offering for today is likely to offend somebody, so I've covered it over with my Podlike Being. My Podlike Being's first offering for the morning is 'The Kilburn High Road'. That song always fills me with a mad desire to get filthy pissed and burn things down.
I'm not entirely certain why.
It's another song that Floggin' M play astonishingly fast live. Seriously, the corners of the room had begun to curve inwards. If the song had been another minute longer, the universe would have frayed round the edges.
I fetched my bodhrán from Margaret Murphy's this morning. She yowlled in protest and clasped frantically stool I'd set her upon when we decided we weren't speaking to one another Sunday morning. I've left her in the boot of my car. Here's to hoping the poor bitch doesn't melt - I noticed that the winds have switched back to the south. Argh. I've done with pissing summer. It's autumn now, you gorramned silly air molecules. Catch the fuck up.
I was abysmally late to the office today - in part because my head had come detached from my shoulders during the night and was rolling merrily about the house taunting the rest of me. Sure, there's a pack of lies - but it may as well have been true, for all I flollopped about and achieved near to sweet fuckall.
I'd got sort of a timetable worked out in my head. I would awaken early (which, for me, is a quarter to seven), scramble into whatever is passing for a track suit (I haven't got a proper one) this week, and leap upon my elliptical. At seven o-clock, shaddowshoes woke me by pelting me with one of the towels from Chris and Michelle's wedding. Instead of springing into action, I said (read: whinged like a bitch) 'Ngaaah?! You hit me with a towel!'
Twenty minutes later, I slogged out to the bar, moved the elliptical so that I could stare slack jawed at telly as I walked (ah, sure I know I shouldn't do that - that I should rather meditate, but I only end up Dwelling on Dark Things - rar - so it's just well I switch my brain off). Usually, when I climb up onto it, it wakes up and bids me 'hallo' in it's curious blinking way. Only today, nothing happened. That's curious sez I to myself, so I pressed a button, and it peeped.
Peep? Hang about - this doesn't make sense, electronic things only peep when...(I reach round the back of the display in search of a switch, and I find a panel to open instead) their batteries have gone flat.
Batteries. Four of them - and C batteries at that (guess what I haven't got) - in my elliptical. Yes, that elliptical - the one that should have a power supply that plugs into an outlet. Or so I thought, eh?
Well. Shite.
However, since I've made a vow to myself to take more exercise, I couldn't let the foibles of technology stand in my way. Well, sure I could have done, but I didn't. I found an aerobics videotape instead.
You know, it's damned difficult not to feel foolish when you realise that any of your neighbours who choose to walk their children to school via the alley can watch you leaping about like a moron. My door needs curtains. Oh yes. If I'm going to act the maggot for all of creation to see, then I'll do it onstage. My bar isn't a stage...well, at least it isn't one at half-seven in the morning.
I can just imagine what they're whispering behind my back - 'the creepy little monkey at number blahblahblah was getting jiggy with her bad self this morning'. Argh.
To my own credit, I think I need something a bit more challenging when it comes to actual physical exertion. To counter that, it was the grace of God alone stopped me from tumbling about in an awkward tangle of limbs and trainers. The video woman made it seem effortless - they always do. Me? If there's a dust mote in a room, I will find it and trip over it. I must have looked ridiculous. Here's the part where I remind myself that it doesn't matter how I looked, but rather that I carry on with doing it. Argh. I'm coming back as a super hero in my next life. A taller one.
After that wee bit of a debacle, I had many chats with my cadre of house cats, tripped over something else in the kitchen, and took a vow to go round the shops for batteries, something to remove the river stains from my hiking shirt (the saga continues), and...something else I forget.
Oh, right, I fed my cockatiel. Gripping, innit?
I was an unforgivable 20 minute late to the office.
'S all I got, me dearies - and to think you've just killed ten minutes of your life at reading it. Seems damned unfair, dunnit?