Expletive alert. Warning: Not Work Safe
Those of you who know me in the other reality, (I baulk at the phrase, 'real world,' as so much of my time, seems now, to be confined to cyber-space,) will know that I have been struggling, emotionally, to cope with, yet another, work related anti-climax. I can rarely remember feeling so wretched. Apologies to those of you who received the mad and frantic, late-night, text bulletins;
"Help, expletive needed!"
I have never found that profanity trips easily into my conversation but sometimes, nothing else will adequately sum up or express an emotion.
There are only, so many times, that I can say, "I feel rubbish," or, " I detest you intensely," before the phrase loses impact.
I think I have it now;
my manager is as, " the stale wank-cheese, of a bloodied and fuckless, syphillitic cunt."
Please feel free to offer alternatives and / or improvements!
That feels much better.
I have never felt so close to accepting the medics' solution of a chemical lobotomy / strait jacket.
Yet again, B has saved me. I have a visit to her new school, this evening and shall, "get a grip". I will not embarass her any more than is my parental obligation. (Memories flood back of my mother at parents' evening, 30 years ago, in, "that red cat-suit". Brrr, shudders!)
Thanks to the friend, who phoned, this morning and made me laugh. It's kind of pathetic, how important that was.
Rant over.
Still Lolling; aiming for a rofl later. x
I am listening to What Do Pretty Girls Do?
as recorded by Kristy MacColl
