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Dead on Arrival

It's all very well to bandy about the phrase 'watch the paint dry on the walls' with a lack of appreciation for the excruciating sense of boredom that accompanies the dubious pleasure of actually watching the paint dry... for 3 straight days.

If the above sentence has not put you in the know as to my present mood, go duck your head in some cold water & then read it. If light fails to penetrate even then, congratulate yourself on having a cranium denser than a collapsing star and try not to engage in any complicated activities. Breathing, for instance.

To exacerbate the flavour of my current state, supposed well-wishers are fighting to line up with their book of handy homilies and provide assurance that things will get better or that everything will fall into place & of course that it'll all work out. To which I have resorted to caustically enquiring as to how they know that. At least in this time of doom & gloom, the resulting goldfish-like indignant gapes provide some relief.

Not that I do not appreciate the effort to instil positive feelings into a decidedly funereal atmosphere, but I am in no mood for hopeful "Kumbayahs" being yodelled from every direction with the expectation that I will join in, raise my hands and start praising random entities in fervent entreaty. Yet, considering the concatenation of circumstances so far, a religious experience may at least make life a little more interesting. Does the Flying Spagetti Monster make house calls ?

The delightful surprises in this universe make my life even more appealing. I've just been informed that a gaggle of relatives are descending (or is that ascending ?) on us this weekend. Glory, glory, hallelujah !

Song for the moment: Run like hell - Pink Floyd

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