I’m in a bad mood: a grump, a fog, a depression, a dip, a lull, a negatively-buoyant, anti-happy smudge of a grey-day melancholy. And I don’t really know why.
It could be the over-exertion of spending a day on my feet shooting the Youth Theatre video yesterday, where I was less than proficient at keeping my energy levels boosted and trying to stay seated as much as possible so as to conserve as much energy as possible.
It could be because this afternoon I went out to the cinema to see Hot Fuzz (which is great) when I should have been lying in bed forcing my body to recover from yesterday’s runabouts rather than forcing more activity on it.
It could be because I missed my dose of steroids at lunch time and didn’t catch up with them until nearly 6pm this evening, so my system is significantly down on it’s currently beefed-up power supply.
It could be that after going to the cinema, which I shouldn’t have done, following a day of shooting which I didn’t manage well, forgetting my steroids and driving over to Mum and Dad’s and back again just for a bite of dinner and not taking oxygen along for the car journey, I’m just a little bit pooped.
It could be that I’m just tired.
Whatever it is, I’m in a really bad mood.
This is supposed to cheer me up – my blog and blogging on it. It’s supposed to remind me that when the going gets tough, the tough get going – or at least in my case the tough laugh in the face of the other toughness and tell it to be on it’s merry way because tough isn’t welcome in this part of town and if it doesn’t go away swiftly-and-I-mean-right-now then I’m going to do something really drastic like laughing even harder.
I’m still just feeling pretty grumpy.
So I’m clearly beyond help. Far beyond the outer reaches of the depths of the far side of the distant part of somewhere that’s really not very close to the vicinity of the place where I am and help’s ability to reach me.
So there’s only one thing for it: I’ve just got to go to bed. And sleep.
Like all big problems in life that at times seem insurmountable, I’m confident that this will see me through.
Actually, thinking about it, there’s not many insurmountable problems that are cured by sleeping. Insomnia, maybe. But not cancer. Or AIDS. Or even HIV, for that matter. War is rarely solved by sleeping, although I suppose if all the people on both sides were sleeping then they couldn’t be shooting each other, so it’s a kind of solution, but not really practical or workable as peace-plans go.
Murders aren’t solved by sleeping, and dogs aren’t walked by sleeping. Sleeping does nothing to stop the spread of malicious rumours regarding the alleged illegal exploits of footballers or politicians, nor does it make any headway into the resolution of global warming.
It does, however, stop mindless, idle drivel like this, because when I’m asleep I can’t type.
There are many things on this earth and in this life for which we should all be thanking the Good Lord who watches over us. And me being asleep and not writing any more of this is one of them.
Good night all.
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