I’m writing as I walk one dog. The other dog awaits escape for a wee.
I’m tired. But good tired. I had to go to a work medical this morning, the thought of which made me physically sick. I was feverish and unsteady when I got there. I cried as soon as I sat on the patient’s chair. The doctor was very nice, warm and sensitive, as I blundered my way through some big picture self realisation. I hadn’t had to tell my sorry ass story to a stranger in a long time and even though it was tough, I feel it provided some clarity. An hour and two sundried tomato eyes later and I deep breathed my way out of there.
I’ve switched dogs. He’s been weeing for 45 seconds.
I was productive this afternoon and even made it to Body Attack.
He’s literally just finished his wee.
There isn’t a narrative to this post, as such. I guess it just shows that if you switch yourself on to autopilot sometimes you can make it through the day and even go manual after the dust settles on a shitty morning. So maybe that’s the narrative message.
If you’re pro-choice (which, if you follow this blog, I’m assuming you are), read this Minister for Health makes comments on abortion for rape victims. Apparently it was news on Sunday but I’m just catching it now as I do my best to avoid the shite that RTÉ produce with my begrudgingly paid licence fee. I would have voted for him, not now.
The dog just weed again. Seriously.
Now I’m going to watch the end of The Apprentice and probably eat chocolate because I like chocolate and life’s too fucking short not to eat chocolate.