James Joyce. But not.
WARNING: Rambling/stream of consciousness post alert!
Picture the scene. It’s five days before Christmas. I’ve spent the afternoon in Argos and Sainsbury’s. My feet hurt. My brain hurts. My pocket hurts. I’m irritable. I get home to find my ‘To Do’ list on the kitchen table and, of course, I’ve forgotten half of what I was meant to do:
1. Check we don’t already have Christmas crackers. I didn’t check. Bought some more. Already have two packs from last year’s sales.
2. Fix washing machine. Forgot to call the repair man. I’m an idiot. An idiot wearing dirty jeans.
3. Send Christmas cards. Didn’t buy any, let alone write them.
4. Buy nibbly bits. Sorted. Natch.
5. Buy vodka. Well hello?! Done.
You get the picture. Organised at Christmas I ain’t. But hey – I can’t be good at everything, right?!
Which brings me onto my other news. I have a new job. It’s temporary and not exactly what I want to do with my life but hey, I’m so grateful just to have a job that they’ll definitely get their money’s worth with me. I start in the New Year and will have to dust my suits off and polish my heels again – needs must. But it won’t stop me writing, it just means I’ll need do more ‘To Do’ lists. And you know how good at them I am!
Anyway, today’s rambling post was brought to you courtesy of too much caffeine and not enough sleep ….
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