Dreadful Nonsense

It's funny how one little thing can completely change your mind about a person.

It's no big secret - mainly because I've posted about it, even if only vaguely, and because you've read it with your eyes and brain - that I've been having quite a horrible stressful time this last week. Things have a habit of arriving all at once, and when you have one big problem, lots of little ones come along to jump on the back of the first problem, and they all lean heavily on top of you until you have a little panic attack and decide to become a nun and move to an island where there are no men, telephones, televisions, internets, cigarettes or mental disorders. Or at least of the mental disorders that are present on this Island of Nuns, they are disorders that manifest themselves only as singing on mountain sides or at goat herds.

Because when you have one giant problem, all other little problems for the meantime fade in to the background and you throw all your energy at the big problem, trying to beat it down to submission, but all the time you're fighting with the main problem, you don't notice that the little problems have crawled up behind you and are cheering on the big problem, and passing the big problem sticks and other basic weapons with which to beat you to a bloody pulp. And when the big problem finds itself with the advantage, all the other little problems chose that moment to jump on top of you and pull you right under.

So yesterday was the day that all the little problems decided to pounce, and despite the fact that I'd had the first lovely full night's sleep in over a week, the little problems had me blindsided, and managed to reduce me to a gibbering wreck for most of the afternoon, and caused me to snap at the very people that were trying to offer me support. It is always safest to lash out at those people who you know you can trust, because they will be the ones most willing to forgive your fits of gibbering.

But that which doesn't kill you makes you stronger (a saying that my physio has really taken to heart), and today I'm feeling much better for the minor collapse of mind and spirit that I experienced yesterday. The assistance of alcohol and the poison of cigarettes last night also helped me on to this road of recovery (although obviously every cigarette is doing you damage, and just say 'no', kids).

Myself and Mrs D* took to the comedy club last night, because it's traditional now for us, and more a matter of habit than choice. Last night's gig was quite the adventure, because we had never seen all but two of the acts before, and of the two that we had seen, one of them did all new material. We do appreciate the effort put in by Irish comedians to change their routines, a discipline sadly lacking in their London counterparts. What the size of the Irish scene loses in the variety of comedians it makes up for in demanding that they change their routine more often that they change their shoes. At the end of the day, as we raced each other home on our respective Nite Links (she won, but that's merely because her journey is literally shorter than mine, and therefore she always wins - I should really think these race challenges through more clearly), the Island of Nuns was happily looking a bit further away.

*Mrs B has experienced a name change, due to her changing allegiances to another Mr Man whom she adores and wants to hold hands with and marry and make breakfast for. I am not allowed to reveal the identity of her Mr D, although it is safe to say that this is a man who really likes cheese.

This entry was posted on 06 May 2004 at 12:55 pm. 0 comments

Dreadful Nonsense

0 Comments:

Recommended Reading

Archives