I got a call from the local newpaper late last week asking if I wanted to write an article on the area's nightlife.
"You're havin' a laugh aren't you?" I said to Ed. "I never go out! I'll rise to the challenge though! Thanks!"
I blagged my way into free comedy at the Oxford pub on Saturday. It was good, and I was glad that I wasn't there on my own, surrounded by couples and groups of friends; I was with my 'profession'. I was there as 'reviewer'.
The newspaper deadline was yesterday. My winter wipeout medical questionnaire deadline was yesterday too.
I am REALLY PISSED OFF with myself this morning.
It's fun writing about nightlife, writing for money. Let's enjoy the moment!
Oh bugger, I have to write why I can't do things on this questionnaire. I can at the moment. OH shit, let me think about housing, the job market, let me think myself into a depression. Oh, let me think myself out of it again...
Let me think what pubs you can get pissed in!
Let me think how sometimes I can't communicate.
Let me think what pubs you can watch theatre in!
Let me think how my behaviour upsets people.
I sent one article to the editor
I sent one questionnaire to a machine.
Why didn't I think I might get really depressed today and saved the questionnaire til now instead of puncturing positive thoughts with punitive ones yesterday?
Same reason that when a comedian asked how many parents there were in the room on Saturday night (just me) I didn't stick my hand up.
No, I don't know what that reason is.
You're havin' a laugh aren't you....