I’m all washed out at the moment. My hair is flat, my skin’s gone feral and there’s not a thing in my wardrobe that makes me look attractive/female/human. In my weakened state, I even joined up on Crackbook.
I know, desperate times.
I’m burnt out! I’ve been at it for nigh upon 20 months! At what, you say (with a wink and a leer)? The biz! The networking, the writing, the planning and never-ending phonecalls and cups of tea. The ‘maybe soon’ clients, the ‘you’re lucky to know us’ clients, the ‘I need therapy’ clients, and the outright aggressive and crazy clients. And I’m still po’. I hate being po’. Gloom.
I’m also a bit over this cold I’ve had for over eight days now. Colds are for the weak.
Lordy, I am in need of a holiday: an iced jug of Pimms No 1 Cup in each hand and a newspaper glued to each eyeball. Possibly a Flashman novel in each back pocket. And a muu-muu! I need a holiday muu-muu, I do indeed.
So yes, I haven’t been inspired to write much except for my usual drivel.
As you were.