I like snow. When it’s falling outside my window, lit by street lamps and I’m inside, curled up with a book and hot chocolate, I love snow. When I’m out in snow being pulled backwards and neither eight years old nor on a sled, I turn into a bitch. We went out to run Christmas/birthday errands on Saturday, before heading to a Christmas party. We got two feet away from the front door and my front wheels caught some gray…
I’m sitting here in my pajamas and robe writing this in a notebook as Sarge makes us breakfast. It is 3.30 and life is good. I’ve been thinking that thought since Thursday. It’s been going through my head like a mantra. I’m sitting here on Friday night eating Chinese food and watching The Golden Girls reruns. And life is good. We’re trudging through snow tracks on Saturday on the hunt for cake and hot chocolate, and life is good. …
Stress gives me heartburn. Gulp-Gaviscon-and-belch heartburn. I have decided I shouldn’t eat crisps and dip for dinner or look for a job after 8.00pm. I got another rejection yesterday. I then asked my PA to polish my nails purple to cheer myself up. It didn’t work. Sarge came home for lunch and made me life-sucking -zombie coffee. That worked. I still cried, though. And got unspeakably angry at grammatical errors on national websites. I flapped around a bit saying, ‘People…
