I was lying in bed, considering the many and varied ways I could terminate Mr FD with a wire coat hanger (far better than counting sheep, more therapeutic) when I started to wonder about the meaning of life.
In reality, the expectation that I was going to have a lousy day at work due to a combination of my cold and lack of sleep, weighed my thoughts down. Also, the fear that the haunted library kettle may not have been unplugged and would boil the library down over night. Did they unplug it before we left, or did they not? Why didn’t I check before I left at the end of the day? Oh, the stresses of management are unrelenting. It was a waste of energy, of course, as when I arrived at work I found that they had located a replacement kettle (no blue lights) late the day before and all was well. No one had thought to inform the elle capitan (read that will a mix of French and Spanish accents). That’s me. She where the buck stops, if the buck ever reached, that is.
Don’t you just love the midnight hours when you are feeling ill? When all are snoring around you and you just want to punch someone out, especially your healthy partner, if only you had the strength? Take the healthy description with a grain of salt in regard to Mr FD, for I am always telling him he is sick; especially his mind.
I even went downstairs for hot chocolate and panadol at 2am, only to hear Mr FD’s snoring through the bedroom floor above. He was having a very vocal night, snoring and talking; talking and snoring. One of the intended uses of the wire coat hanger was to stitch his mouth shut. There were many more, but in the interests of public safety and any hopes of future defence, I won’t list them here. Another night the same as last night and I will be able to provide you will full colour graphic images. Up close and personal.
Not even the imagine of the leader of the opposition in our parliament trying to make a dash for the closing chamber doors to avoid accepting a cross bench vote, on constant replay on the news channel was able to cheer me. I mean, how low can you be, when the site of Tony Abbot running like a man with a mega dose of Delhi belly for the bathroom, can’t cheer a person up, things must be very sad indeed.
There is no point to this post. I just want sympathy, lots of “poor FD” and “bad Mr FD” utterings. I would ask for gifts as well, but you don’t know where I live (well, one or two, who are sworn to silence on pain of a sticking), so if you can’t post thing to me, there is not much use in asking is there? Is there?
Do you feel as those this is 4 minutes of your life that you will never get back? Well, imagine how I felt last night, lying ill and sleepless in my bed when all around me where snoring…
It’s always about me.