Ask me how I am. Go on…
I’m ok, thank you. I’m fine. Bit tired, maybe. But ok.
But I’m not. Not ok. And I don’t know how to explain it. It could be my meds, the weather, stress…or brainweasels and shitgoblins!
As I write this, I’m sat in the dark eating my other half’s Toblerone. I’ve got a sugar-induced headache and my eyes are straining because I’m typing on my phone in the dark like a numpty…and I’m not ok.
What I really want is a Fairy Godperson (I don’t mind their gender as long as they have a shit load of magic available) to come and give me my Cinderella moment: the makeover, the one night of fantasy, the chance to step away from everything, however briefly, and be someone else. Anyone else. Preferably someone who’s not regretting a Toblerone overdose!
Failing that, maybe what I need is a good dose of leeches and a lie-down in a quiet, dark room…
Anyway, that’s enough self-pity: time for me to pull my metaphorical socks up and go make the spawns their dinner.