The Dog Ate It

Sorry my blog is late this week; the dog ate my time.  Not a real dog, you understand.  I refer to the Black Dog of depression.  Although, I suppose in the great scheme of metaphorical things, my Black Dog is actually a rather grubby white puppy, having about him more of distraction than destruction.

It started with the snow last week.  Having forbidden my co-workers to clear the ice-packed car park, I went and shovelled it up myself.  Stupid!  The niggling ache in my back became worse as the day progressed, and next morning I couldn't move.  Well, I could, but neither swiftly nor with style.  Sitting down was fine.  Walking around was fine, after about ten minutes.  It was the bit in between that was all wrong - rather like the mid-point in the transition between human and werewolf, but with more groaning.

I didn't take time off work, believing that trying to keep moving would help me recover sooner.  Also, I had an appointment at the hairdresser's on Thursday, and the guilt I would have felt at going there while 'sick' would have been severe.  I decided it would be sensible to forgo my usual 'feet up and massager on' routine (the chairs at that salon are truly wonderful) but I still got stuck after leaning back for the wash, and the poor woman had to pull me up.  This was a little worrying, as my hairdresser is quite small, and the chairs are on a raised platform.  My giggling at the comic potential of the situation didn't help, but fortunately she didn't fall off the edge.

By Monday I'd pretty much recovered my usual mobility, but I was still feeling drained and irritable.  A bad day at work finished me off, I'm afraid, and I spent the evening weeping into my wine.  However, I went to the supermarket tonight, which rapidly put my problems into perspective and cheered me up no end.

 

Get with the program

"...and for the weather where you are," the presenter concluded, "you can look online". What happened to looking out of the window? What if you don't have a computer? Well, obviously you and I do, otherwise you couldn't read this. But perhaps you're reading it on your phone - what's that all about? It seems that the last thing we need phones for now is making calls, and if we can't go online then we can't join in society.

I had no mobile connection for most of this week, which I was blaming on the snow, but it only bothered me because I couldn't access the internet in my lunch break. My technical advisor suggested switching it off, then on again (which did the trick) but you wouldn't believe the panic I felt as I pressed the 'off' button; it was as if I was erasing myself from the world. {What was I thinking? It wasn't working anyway!}

There seems to be an increasing need to keep up with technology, or be isolated. I am therefore forcing myself into 'social networking'. This is difficult as, like many writers, I'm a bit solitary. So far I have one Facebook Friend, and I only had the courage to invite her because she'd previously agreed to it. However, I'm building pages {Hey, listen to me with the jargon!} for some of my characters, so hopefully they'll be my friends too.

Aaargh! I've just pressed the wrong button on my washing machine so, instead of hanging up nice clean clothes, I have to hang around while they go through the wash cycle again. At least I can look out of the window at the snow.

Play misty for me

Why, in the name of all that's green and curly, do shops keep moving stuff around?  Silly question; I know why.  They think that if we have to go down different aisles we'll discover irresistible delicacies that we've never bought before, so we'll spend more money.  WRONG!  All that happens is shoppers get even more stressed and irritable, and we leave without even buying what we actually went in for.

Now, presumably in a further effort to tempt us, my local supermarket has installed sprinklers in the fresh veg section.

So not only can I not find anything, I have to penetrate a rainforest first.  Imagine my delight when, like a latter-day Mr Stanley, I finally discovered the pizzas. (Dr Oetker, I presume?)

But perhaps I'm alone in my dislike of cucumbers in the mist.  My friend says it looks lovely, but then she did think it was disco smoke - not unreasonably, I suppose, since they already play music at us.  I eagerly anticipate the dimming of the lights, and perhaps a mirror ball over the fish counter.  Just so long as they stop moving the damn biscuits!

Let there be light

One of my kitchen light bulbs exploded last night, and the remaining three were still in shock this morning, so they refused to come on.  I do sympathise with them; it was rather startling - I just flicked the switch, there was a bang, and the floor was covered with broken glass.  At least, I assume it was, as I haven't seen it in daylight yet, or been able to replace the bulb.  There certainly were several nasty-looking shards that I managed to sweep under the table in the dark, not wanting to pad across the floor in my bare feet to find the dustpan.

So this morning I was forced to make my breakfast by fridge-light, although the term, 'make my breakfast' is probably misleading; I have tea and yoghurt.  {No, of course not mixed!}  I can't be doing with anything more challenging to assemble at 6.30 am.  It would have been easier if the fridge door would stay open, but it doesn't.  So I had to stand with my upper half in the fridge, in order to see where my outstretched arm was pouring boiling water.

Now I have to buy a new light bulb, which I don't anticipate will be easy.  Most shops no longer sell ordinary bulbs, because They are trying to make us all purchase totally ineffective 'energy saving' ones, which take ages to come on, protrude in a most unattractive way above the lampshade and....oh yeah, are apparently full of mercury, or some such toxic stuff.  If one of them breaks I'll have more to worry about than cut feet.