a methodical (and failed) attempt to shake off the blues

This morning, it was still snowing when I got up. Ooh, thousands of lovely white blobs swirling through the sky. I am going to get soaked on the walk in, but I am still immature enough to be really happy about walking through falling snow. Right up until the point where I have to put my cold and clammy hoody back on this afternoon, anyway. (Coat: still somewhere in the postal system. The tension!)

…The pain! I can’t tell if other pedestrians are avoiding me because of the limp or because of the expression.

Today, my Cellmate is back and work ground to a halt. I wish I could say that this is because she talks too much, but it is because I talk too much. I feel really guilty, but if I stop now, it’ll probably look like I’ve got the hump with her. Thanks, boss, for your unnecessary instructions to make her feel welcome – being a bit nettled by your assumption that I had to be told to do it, I made a super-big production of it, the only way I know how; and now we can’t get anything done.

She did, however, offer me a lift home when we got the signal to down tools early, so I guess she’s not sick of the sight of me yet. It was very welcome, and I felt a bit bad that as soon as I was inside, I changed into the well-loved hiking boots that are Not attempting to gnaw my feet off at the ankles and went round the corner to LIDL, which is a fair percentage of the way back to work. As feared, I was sliding about like anything at every step, and this was only on trodden-down snow. Good thing I was only in for the cheap rip-off versions of pot noodles and some sandwich fillings.

Well, until I saw the 99p cheap rip-off champagne is back. Right, now I have to Not Fall Down with a backpack full of glass.

Despite a fairly pleasant day (for a day spent at work), yesterday’s blues have been sniffing round the corners of my mind all day, and are back in force tonight. Crap. I’m not really sure what’s causing them, so it could just be One of Those Things – perhaps, one of those things that carries on for months or years for no discernable reason! Eek.

Time to work through previously-suggested methods of banishing the buggers. Losing myself in wonder, that should kick them out! So I stopped to admire the scenery and watch the colours of the sunset fade into the gloaming, which transmuted them into a form of yearning. God, this is beautiful, but I want to… climb inside the view. And have a bit of a break from the typing and the futile pursuit of Ixx, the fabled second moment of area, I suppose. I want to be making the most of this weather, celebrating it, not just stamping through it on my way to the chores; off with some nebulous but devastatingly gorgeous bloke in a horse-drawn sleigh, for instance, all bells and rugs and gluwein, through the twilight and woods to some cosy little chalet with a log fire. Where, I suppose, I would have to get the damn equations back out and go after Ixx again. Make that a devastatingly gorgeous bloke who can explain where I’m going wrong, here.

In lieu of that, I stamped (and slid) back to the flat. Work, that is the answer! Maybe I feel fractious and strangely unfulfilled from not having enough exercise (carting heavy weights through the snow apparently doesn’t count any more – I need to go back to the fighting. I also need to slip and fracture a wrist or something en route about as much as I need a burglary right now, however.) Therefore, I shall do a good deed for the neighbours by shovelling the snow again (hopefully, thus enticing more to come down and ruin my good work) and I shall make things clean and I shall put on the raspberry wine and the peapod wine! That should do it!

Did it hell. Though my experiments with blending up all the ingredients before putting them in the demijohns were fun. For the first five minutes. The peapods were rather more intractible than the berries – to the point where I suddenly realised I was trying to bash them down with a fork while my other hand hovered over the ‘pulse’ button. Oh, not good.

Also, the kitchen now looks like Slimer’s come round to dinner, but I was too demoralised to clear it up. It’s not like the mess is discomfiting anyone else – oh now, do not tell me the  devoutly misanthropic person who has been revelling in not having to share living space is lonely?

I do hope Not, since it appears that anyone spending extended periods of time in my company eventually decides to pass the time by cataloguing all my faults, out loud. My brain already does that for me, thankyou! No! It will be the futility of fighting the sums, the motivation-draining chill in the (indoor) air, the sinkhole that is my bank balance, the fear that declining to slither six extra miles to the fighting means I am a Wimp.

So I bit the bullet and wrote a big email to a lovely bloke, explaining my predicament (very badly). Sure enough, he did not reply, probably having somewhat of a life compared to mine. I opened the cheap-arse rip-off champagne. Sod it. Since being productive wasn’t helping at all, I ditched it completely and had a browse around this blog-hosting site. It is heartening to see lots of people also have screeds of this sort of drivel. I may be an idiot, but I am not alone!

Sort of.

He did get back to me, I discovered by the time the perry was finished. He has written a whole pdf on a website just to explain what the hell is up with Ixx. Awww!

Well, now I feel like even more of an idiot, because I couldn’t have knocked up anything like that in that time. But I’m an idiot somebody has been Nice to! Also, I’m an idiot who got a lift home. Sometimes, I don’t give people enough credit.


About beshemoth

Mainly making art, making wine, writing and gardening. Having a life only as the above allows.
This entry was posted in homebrew, inadvertent loonytunes admission, the fear of all sums, weather-dependent lifestyle. Bookmark the permalink.

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