I cycled to work tonight

to see how long it would take.

It turns out that it is not the distance that is the problem, but that fact that I have less road-sense than a five year old child.

I'd jumped a number of kerbs on the way down and on the way back was showboating for the crowd when I found myself flying through the air towards a predictable but unavoidable end sliding across a pavement towards the nettles.

On initial inspection I decided my left hand was broken, my left arm scraped beyond repair, both kneecaps shattered and one shinbone well and truly barked, not to mention the right hand lacerated by and impregnated with gravel. I got up and walked twenty metres to a bus stop, hyperventilating with shock and threatening to simultaneously faint and throw up, culminating in a messy and unpleasant death.

I settled for collapsing into a heap and sweating profusely before deciding that I couldn't phone for help because I would have to abandon my bike there on the road, to be taken by urban foxes in their quest for dominance. The prospect of walking it back was too humiliating so I taped my hands around the handlebars and rode like the winner I am.

Now I'm afraid to go to sleep because the continued kinetic movement is all that's keeping my hands from morphing into wooden gnarls and I know that the moment I stop moving that's it, I'm going to have to have both ragged claws amputated. I'll have to stop learning to straighten my hair and start learning to type with hooks for hands.

A life as an extremist muslim cleric is now all that awaits me, when all I wanted was to practice for the day the oil runs out.

A song for Lord Baldymort

Baldymort Baldymort oooooh Baldy Baldy Baldy Baldymort.

Baldymort.

no freakin'; no fakin' this

Zoe went on a date last night so I had some in-time with Donna, because I didn't have a date.

I don't see Donna very much these days, because she works odd hours and because Zoe and I like to spend our free time running around looking for coke and boys and clothes and things to make our house nicer. Donna isn't into those things so she doesn't come with us, which means I miss out on hearing about things about her life.

Another reason that I never see her is that Donna has a sinister boyfriend who sometimes gets the train (even though he has a car) all the way from Lincoln at 8pm on Friday night and leaves again 10am Saturday morning (even though he doesn't have anything to do). He uses phrases like "cool beans" and "fair do's" which fill with me inexplicable rage and mean that I have to vacate the immediate vicinity whenever I know he's coming.

Boyfriends that behave in odd ways are, I feel, to be avoided, as in my experience it hides a deeper problem. This problem is usually 'failing to mention still being in love with ex girlfriend', which is irritating because no one likes to be lied to, but could be 'generally unenthusiastic about the relationship' or 'hiding secret past as shadow cabinet minister' or 'serial killer'. These are more serious and will lead to heartache.

On a similar front, I have decided that my current boyfriend doesn't suit me, and until he can prove otherwise he's going to have to settle for 'distant friendship'. This has lead to some heartache, but will prevent me strangling him in his sleep.

crying havoc

On Monday I threatened to mutilate a co-worker, such is the new extent of my PMT.

On Tuesday I sent a message which I'm still thinking about.

On Wednesday I trained the scruffiest new colleague I've ever seen.


Now every cell in my body is crying out for FRIDAY, because it's bonus day and because it's the weekend.

I want things to be better. Is that selfish?

stop oh oh please stop me

This morning I had in fact died and gone to hell. I woke up with a brain too large for my shrunken skull and with what felt like a number of socks in my mouth.

I went for one drink last night (stop me if you think you've heard this one before) with Zoe and our new friend Alistair at 5.30pm and didn't get home until 4.30am today. It was immense fun and this morning I considered the possibilities of going to QMC to beg a nurse to replace all my blood and sew my mouth up to prevent recurrence.

We met two French spies, a woman from Rochdale and a lady with a year-old baby in attendance. I sound posh, and Alistair was very complimentary but - typically - has a beautiful girlfriend.

Zoe told me she loves me and that she hates it when I do things with friends that aren't her, which confused me as we do literally everything together so how would she know what that felt like?! We decided that there's nothing wrong with us and the reason we can't get decent boyfriends is that we're too cute for Nottingham.

Later we went to the casino. We didn't bet (because we couldn't figure it out) but I've got a horrible feeling that somehow my membership might mean that I can never get a mortgage.

oh hey, i didn't see you guys all the way over there

Today I was busy fixing someone else's mistake so I didn't get to eat lunch and yet it was my housemate who fainted when we went to give blood this evening. Good things do happen to bad people!

I don't really think I'm a bad person, although I know some people who do. I wish I was a bit thinner and a bit nicer to people I regret, but I'd also like the moon on a stick and that'll never work, so I'm going to have to go for what I've got.

I've made a new friend who's caused some maltreated synapses to fire and now I've got this sick feeling in my stomach like something bad is going to happen, but I'm pretty sure it's already happened. At the moment I feel like I'm living in a five year repeating cycle and every time I come to the zenith it drops back into the first scene again. Sometimes the people are different and sometimes the cycle doesn't take as long, or it takes longer, but I've got a feeling if I can just get it to complete then everything will come out OK. But I'm not there yet.

sense-memory

Sitting out on my roof today, in a bikini, in the scorching heat, and overlooking next door's smoky barbeque, I was suddenly hit in the gut with a sudden incredible memory of being in Cambodia. I didn't wear a bikini then but the smell of the charcoal and the sticky heat were so incredibly and heartrendingly reminiscent that I teared up for a minute.

Now I am crying because I am sunburned pretty much everywhere it is possible to be sunburned, except on my face because the foundation I wore to Asda is SPF 15.

It was just so hard to get onto the roof that it didn't seem like sensible energy investment to get back down for suncream.

Day 42

of the Three Day Detox

Yeah so anyway I finished the detox yesterday, everything was grand and I'd eaten fruit for two and a half days running and then we had a picnic and I ate some sandwiches and quiche and then a tiny cake and then rice and tofu and then I went to the pub for a pint and a glass of wine and then Griff and I went to Asda bought a load of crap and ate popcorn in my house. So the detox is probably negated but it was good while it lasted. I just can't be strict all the time, I'm too fond of myself.

I had an odd time last night and I don't know if it was my fault, and this morning I felt a bit low, but this afternoon Jen brought in her new baby so that was OK. I didn't hold him because I'm not insured but I looked and cooed.

Today was Murderer Day. Jake still doesn't talk but now Lewis loves me and won't shut up and doesn't understand our time boundaries. It's nearly end of term and I'm going to miss those little blighters. There's a cocktail afternoon (at work, not in the school) for all the volunteers where we will be presented with a 'small gift'. I've got every fibre of my being crossed that it's a terrible macaroni picture of Luke Skywalker wielding a lightsabre. If it is I'm going to stick it on my desk and pray to it.

I'm still in a weird mood. I promised to go to the gym but I think we all know that won't happen.

I think I've abandoned my stillborn dating idea. It's stupid and hurtful and I like my non-boyfriend and think the time would be better spent with him.

As Hayfever Guru, I can tell you that the weather promises to be good this weekend, folks. Go thou forth and purchse branded medicines, for I have said: it is good.

Day One

of Dodgy Detox Drink Bought From the Staff Shop

and things are going OK. My non-boyfriend has resumed his basketball career and now I feel sluggish and unworthy so I am detoxing until Wednesday, as well as going to the gym Tuesday - Thursday - Saturday morning. This will have the added bonus of making me of an acceptable shape to fit into one of the many bikinis I have bought from the staff shop in the last four months.

So I'm drinking this stuff which looks like pondwater and tastes like pondwater with added lime juice, and it's really not all that bad. I've tried other detox drinks and had to give them up because of the strong 'fetid armpit' aroma. I'm teaming it with the recommended GI diet but I don't know how long that'll last as I am notoriously far too disorganised to follow any sort of eating plan, healthy or not.

Part of the reason I have chosen now to do said detox is Saturday Night. On Saturday Night my housemate and I went On The Prowl, much in the manner of lionnesses trying to track down dinner, except by 'dinner' we meant 'victims'. We talked to a lot of people but I can now state that there are catergorically NO attractive men in Nottingham. None. No where. What's a girl to do?! Well, what the girls in question did was have a glass of wine in about eight bars before running into some friends (friends of my non-boyfriend, which put paid to my fun) and going back to a houseparty which we didn't leave until 5am. On Sunday I was sicker than I have ever been and decided that, seeing as my body was purged of all wrong-doing, I was going to keep it that way.

Then tonight Zoe cooked the chocolate bread and butter pudding she made during the day on Saturday and now I don't know what's going on.