Burnt Out

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.


12 thoughts on “Burnt Out

  1. BBBJ,I am overjoyed to see you back, depressed or not. Let’s see…You could become a barrista. Or a cashier in a Walmart. Or a hooker.I know. Sometimes it all seems kind of pointless, eh? ‘Do it all over again.’Attractive/female is inside. Clothes make the man, not the woman. Since I’ve been sick and gone from svelt and sexy to gramma-ish and fat, believe me, I understand. But for some reason, the mirror no longer scares me. As for looking human, for this lfetime, at least, you’re stuck. Maybe next time, you can be a Hindu cow. Ugly, but worshipped.Suggestion: Set an alarm for 10 minutes. Go into a dark, cramped closet. Shut the door. Sit on the floor and indulge, without guilt, in an orgy of self-pity until the alarm goes off. Then resume a more productive attitude. (I’m serious; it’s hard but doable.) Do this faithfully, at the same time, every day, until you’re done and don’t need it any more. That way you can get through depression without alienating all those horrible clients. Has almost always worked for me.Muu-muu is good. I wrote about that a few posts ago.Mai is done with her pontificating.You couldn’t write drivel even to get an A from a high school English teacher.Now, go read about my Dad and his French prostitute girlfriend.

  2. Your Royal Highness,SQUAWK!SQUAAWWKK!!SQUAAAWWWKKK!!!Someone has stolen my egg. My majesty has been so upset I can’t even write about it!!SQUAWK!SQUAAWWKK!!SQUAAAWWWKKK!!!SCREEEEEEEEEEEEECH!!!!!!!!!!

  3. I was going to comment, but that last comment from Gathuku said it all, really.Cheer up! You could be stuck in the world without shrimp, or the land of eternal Wednesday.

  4. Oh, god. Now I’ve just gone and joined up on Crackbook thanks to you, just to see your profile (there was nothing there), and I always swore I wouldn’t, because i’d never be able to get enough friends to make me feel secure.Damn you, internet!

  5. Ah thank you chapettes. I am not so much depressed as completely drained and unenthused. I am sure that, like all things it shall pass.The netball skillz are getting better, I am now a godmother and the weekend is nigh, so there is much to live for it seems.Now I must go to contemplate the land of eternal Wednesday (shudder).

  6. We haven’t heard about the new housemate for a time? Is he still working out?**!Flash of inspiration!** You seem at your feisty best when fighting with live-ins. Maybe you need to find a couple more loud, bossy, dirty, inconsiderate, disgusting, arrogant lesbians to live in your home to bring you out of the doldrums.Just a thought.

  7. Ho ho my dear Mai.Sadly for my levels of rancour and feist, the new housie is going remarkably well. Indeed he is now known as ‘The Treasure’, as he is considerate, easy-going and good company in general. But I do not wish to say too much as I may jinx it..!ALthough I did have a good bitch to the MK on the weekend about how much we abhor cyclists…perhaps that is bloggably ranty..hmm…

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