Patty or Selma, you are a real woman …



I was lost …

Reading through my notes from a play I reviewed but knew nothing about prior to watching it. In a moment of panic, I wrote, “I don’t have a damn clue what this play is about really, and I’ve been sitting here for 30 minutes”.

Turns out, as my notes show, I ended up really liking the bloody thing.

My brain power … sometimes it’s great, sometimes it’s dead.

Some of my reviews are here, just an FYI.

I think the ole braineroo needs a bit of a push …

Am attempting, with all my heart and soul, to finish off some work. But words are not flowing from my chocolate-drenched noggin right now. So here I am. Procrastinating online.  Lucky I haven’t checked Facebook in a while.  That could possibly end me for tonight.

Ok, not all my heart and soul.  Some of it.  The majority of it.  The parts that I need to complete my task.  So I can go watch Back to the Future with the boy and then a little Craig Ferguson and then go to bed.

Aaaaand then earlier today I downloaded Viber and Whatsapp onto my iPhone.  Now I feel like the time will soon be upon us (us, or just me?) where I will no longer need to utter words to people to communicate and have meaningful relationships, I will simply send them text messages and they will never hear my voice. EVER.

I recently read somewhere that procrastination is like a credit card. It’s lots of fun untill you get the bill. And by “recently” I mean less than 5 minutes ago. And by “somewhere”, I mean I googled it. Just then. Just then I googled it.

So close, yet so so so so far …

I feel like I’m in high school or uni all over again. Full-time work and full-time worry makes me a stressy stressy lady.

I’m a week away from three weeks off and I feel like this should be the home stretch, but it feels like a loooong stretch of home stretch. Like that final semester of university when everything seems 6 times harder. Or the quarter of a quarter tank of petrol you have left when you’re 4 traffic lights from home.

And then I ate two chicken sticks and a packet of noodles for dinner. But that’s Future Me’s problem. And I’m hoping it’s a distant Future Me.