Tuesday 8th May. Just get stuffed will you?

I woke up this morning and for no apparent reason, suddenly realised that I hate everything.

Not only do I hate everything, I hate everyone.

Which is weird because when I went to bed last night after Eastenders, I was, to the best of my recollection, feeling fairly easy-going on both counts.

But today, well today is a whole ‘nother ball of wax, as anybody who foolishly got within a three metre radius of my desk will probably, (albeit nervously and well out of my earshot) confirm.

Without even opening my mouth, my stony, dead-eyed glare seemed to imply that something untoward might befall any intruders (work-mates, whatever) who quizzed me too deeply.

“Do I look like I stole your frigging report off the printer Liz? Come a bit closer where I can actually reach you and ask me that again,”

My look seemed to say.

Conversely, about two-o-clock I had to go and sit in the toilet for twenty-five minutes, sobbing, because once again, somebody had taken my black permanent marker pen and forgotten to put it back in my middle drawer.

The cheerful little cheepy-cheep birds were getting on my tits, and don’t even get me started on those little white fluff-puffs that kept aggressively hurling themselves into my car window on the way home.

What is that bloody stuff?

Then I got all upset because, after all, birds are dead cute, especially the ickle-baby ones.

What sort of crabby old bee-atch could hate baby birds?

Uh-Oh, there go the tears again.

Temper. Tears. Temper. Tears.

When I finally slammed my way into the house (a man had driven a little bit too closely behind me on the way home), my children (and the dog) took one look at me, looked at each other, and presumably in some unspoken ‘Freeloader’ language communicated to one another that ‘Leg-It’ was the best short-term method of ensuring survival of their species.

But I wanted a hhhuuuuuggggg.

Sniffle. Sniffle.

What’s the matter with me?

Oooh.

I wonder if we’ve got any chocolate……………

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