GIDDY

I keep thinking that, despite recent claims that I had rediscovered my – obviously short-lived - enthusiasm, I ought to suspend the blog writing for a short while. After all, as those of you who still regularly visit these pages will already have realised, I’m likely to get a little distracted and perhaps a tiny bit giddy over the course of the next few days, and I’m sure you’ll know why…

Meanwhile, I really am finding it hard to actually DO anything at the moment… it could be down to the exhaustion, or it could be down to the anxiety (which seems to be persisting), but days and entire weekends seem to slide way from me without me feeling as if I’ve actually got anything done.

This is possibly because I’m not actually doing anything, but just thinking about the things which I ought to be doing instead, but little gets achieved.

It doesn’t help that the steam-powered computer (which I have to constantly remind myself isn’t actually mine anyway) upon which I attempt to work on is conspiring against me too now. On a good day it can take a mind-wrenching twenty minutes to approach something like a usable condition, and even after all of that, the keyboard can constantly take a dislike to the letter “T” which means constant, endless checking, and as for the mice (or is that mouses…?), well mine’s taken on a life of its own and refuses to talk to the keyboard for at least six minutes out of every five.

I suspect that they’ve had a falling out… either that or they’re just getting old and taking each other for granted like many couples have been known to after a long time together, but I do worry that if that rackety old keyboard runs off with a younger, shinier mouse, it’ll just turn into yet another middle-aged cliché which would, I suppose, at least be appropriate, given all of the words it’s being asked to churn out.

The fact that during November, the number of visitors dropped off a metaphorical cliff would tend to imply that the world might very well agree with me over this, and perhaps, in the run-up to Chrimbletide, such unremitting bleakness is not what the world is quite looking for…

Meanwhile, it seems that all of the electronic devices have taken against me now. Well, not all, obviously. The toaster still sort of works and the kettle is at least boiling water, even though its knob fell off. But the nasty, selfish little television recording device decided that the last ever “Poirot” was not something that it wanted us to see, a fact which I only found out when I sat down to watch it as yet another excuse for procrastination was required. Of course it was devious enough to record the first fifty-seven minutes, which was just long enough to lull you into a false sense of security, before letting the hammer-blow fall.

Perhaps it just doesn’t like endings. After all, it did exactly the same thing with the last ever “Lewis” too...

Oh well, another non-post drifts silently out into the ether. Maybe it will be found and adopted, or maybe, like an abandoned old mouse, it will somehow stagger along until it finds the inevitable scrapheap to lie down on.

Some days it’s just so very hard to work out where any of our destinies lie.