Today I've had the brain of a mongoose that was recently in head on collision with a tank. I managed to forget I two meetings I was meant to attend (so didn't), nearly forgot to pick up my medication and then got home only to realise I'd put a collander in the washing machine instead of the clothes to wash. Thankfully I hadn't turned it on. Don't get me wrong, I've had a perfectly lovely day but I clearly wasn't on the same planet as the rest of humanity!
I wish I was better at this feeling lark. The only people I really want to talk to, in general at the moment are the people who aren't treating me like I'm a loon and of course they're the people I behave like a complete nutter in front of, because clearly I'm a tit. Do you know what happens to people who do that? They end up on their own, chuntering on to themselves about the people hiding in microwaves trying to eat them.
It's ridiculous too because it's not like I'm short of people desperate to talk to me. Today was no exception. First I had to deal with a sympathy squeezer. We all know one. They're the people desperate to show you they care but instead of just saying this, they're obsessed with touching you, no matter how well (or not as the case may be) you know them. They'll envelope you, nearly always squashing your face into an enormous bosom and tell you in a strange cross between a whine and a reassuring baby voice that they'll support you; care about you; talk you through it; do whatever it takes and whilst the sentiment really is kind, the delivery leaves a lot to be desired. Sorry my love, I've already got cancer, I don't want to die of asphyxiation because you've been a tad too enthusiastic with your support for me. Don't get me wrong, it'd be fabulous for the grave stone but I don't think my dream death involves having my head trapped between two gigantic middle aged breasts, no matter how well meaning they are. I extricated myself from her grasp eventually and the day went on.
Then I had another encounter with Nebby Nora. I was not on top form (bloody knackered I think is the technical term) and she gallumps over to me like an over excited puppy to ask if I've heard anything new about my 'tragic news'. I kind of raised an eye brow at her and asked her whether she knew I wasn't going to die right? She looked mightily confused with this as an answer which shut her up long enough for me to politely tell her I had to be elsewhere and leave. Good thought I, that's her dealt with.
I had a very nice chat with my dad this evening though - I told him about my odd dreams and my Casper the friendly cancer. It was all very jovial and reassuring. He's a bit of a legend. I told him what my manager had said about turning into a different person and he suggested I go into work dressed as a viking and declare he was SO right. I'll now only answer to Broomhilda and whilst the giant metal horned hat is a bit to get used to, at least I had him to look out for me and give me the heads up that I'd suddenly change into someone else.
Monsieur Hairypants has decided to join the world of the gingers today which is a nice development. I'm ready for bed again at 8.30pm which is somewhat tragic but I'm all for sleep right now! Carry on with the shiny! :)
