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March 20th, 2004

Unutterable goomy

I wonder if I woke up feeling unutterablY gLoomy because I spent ages last night writing a curmudgeonly rant (see last entry) instead of watching the last episode of Sex in the City lilke a normal single woman. Though I may not be single for much longer... And don't worry he's not married. Though do worry that he is a student of mine...

When I was deeply unhappy in the eighties and nineties, I wallowed in my own delightfully superior self-pity and existential angst. There was usually some sort of dramatic - or more likely melodramatic - incident to spark it off. I could lie in bed listening to the Smiths or Joy Division or the Smashing Pumpkins or Tammy Wynette and weep and wallow. Exquisitely.

Now my misery takes the form of violent exasperation. Life is beginning to irritate me to death. So if I do rouse myself enough to throw myself off the balcony please do not think I was profoundly unhappy. It will probably have been set off by seeing a shop sign bearing the legend "Carpets and Rug's". The apostrophe is bad enough - but why oh why is there only one? Consistent ignorance would be just about tolerable.

But I am not going to throw myself off the balcony, at least not today. I'm going to Cardiff to see Tiggertastic. Who is like Prozac, Mary Poppins and Dr Seuss all rolled into one. He should be free on the NHS...

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rosamicula
Rosamicula

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