Hier, c’était une catastrophe.
I need to get into the shower and wash my hair. I hate washing my hair. It takes forever to dry. If I go within ten feet of a hairdryer that isn’t being firmly controlled by a professional I end up looking like a copper Bichon Frisé, except not as cute. So it’s au naturel pour moi. Three hours later it’s still damp.
My Lady, the Queen’s Mother made an appointment for to me to see my old GP from when I lived in my hometown. I don’t know what she thinks it will achieve but I’m so tired I’m just on autopilot. Nod and agree. I’m fine.
Honestly I’ve nosedived so dramatically I’m beginning to think I should be hospitalised. It’s bad in here. In my head.
I can’t handle people around me. I so desperately want to be on my own. I could curl up on this rusted, uncomfortable waiting room bench and sleep right now even though I’ve spent sixteen hours in bed. My jaws hurt. I feel like my skull needs to be oiled. My brain needs to be powered off, for a while anyway.
Sven and Anna are driving My Lady crazy. So I feel guilty. I feel like I can’t win – stayed in my own place for a night and they wanted me to come home, come home and there’s a fit over the dogs.
Bills. College. School. NCT on the old car. I can’t. I had a shower, without the hair wash, that’s the best I can hope for for today, unless of course Hyper Dotty kicks in and I can conquer the world before The Apprentice.
Am I defeatist? I don’t care.