Losing the will to waffle.

I have spent such a large portion of my day writing utter cack on paper that the thought of sitting churning out a bit more here now is quite mortifying.  Today's assignment for college (which I did start last night but barely) was to create a project plan.  Not only do I have to write a four thousand word essay on the subject of utter nonsense but that nonsense has to be planned carefully.  Brilliant.  I can't help but feel this is an entirely useless unit of the course but then all of it seems fairly useless -  I am only doing it to secure some gainful employment.   Knowing my fortunes, or lack of them, I shall end up the only MAAT qualified checkout girl at Somerfield. 

Today I think we became officially tenantless.  Not to be confused with talentless which I have pretty much always been.  Oh yes, I am on a real downer today.  Hopefully it's just a spot of post-race day blues (is there such a thing?) wherein I am temporarily indulging in deep and meaningful contemplation on the purpose of life, having achieved my ambitions.  Okay so I haven't actually achieved my ambitions, just a teeny weeny one of them.  But really is the purpose of life to get thin and run a half marathon?  That surely can't be it.  Some days it seems to be all I can think of, assuring myself that life and all it's troubles will be remedied once my fat arse can fit in a pair of skinny jeans without creating a muffin top.  It won't be the end though will it.

Just like Chris has spent the last year and a half assuring me that once he gets a job he will be happy.  And hey presto, is he happy??  Is the Pope a muslim fundamentalist?  Probably not, no.  He's as miserable as he ever was.  So much so I have assured him that unless he brightens up and changes his miserable attitude very soon I shall be putting a bullet in his brain and finishing the job properly.  Of course I know what part of the trouble is.  No hanky panky.  And the reason there's no hanky panky is because he is a miserable swine.  Catch 22.  I find it so very ironic that after 2000 years (or more) of existence man still hasn't figured how to get what they want from woman, willingly that is.   Feigning interest in your lady love and what she wishes to talk about, praising the many wondrous things she accomplishes each day and acting midly indifferent to sex will inevitably lead to passion in the bedroom.  Nagging, whining, sulking, berating and complaining will invariably lead to a night on the sofa.  As will suggesting that when your wife bends over the sun is eclipsed.  Fools.

I'm thinking a good nights sleep is once again what I need to remedy this melancholy.  That or a gin and tonic, or twelve.

Speak tomorrow. x x