Got to stop listening to Jeff Buckley. I'm regressing into an angst-sodden teenage narcissist, in mourning for the world, and the fact that Mark doesn't fancy them and snogged Michelle at the weekend. Not that I'm saying Jeff is one. But he does make you feel very, well, gloomy and self indulgent and inclined to think daft thoughts about people you haven't seen for years. He encourages pining. And alcohol abuse. Neither of which I can sink into with, being at work and about to hold a house meeting. Still, I have a whole weekend off in which to do both of the above. Yay!
My stomach really hurts. The only thing that seemes to temporarily sort it out is food. Of the fattening persuasion. No, this has absolutely nothing to do with hormones, although it may explain my protruding belly and the fact that my skin has gone bleurgh. I went to the doctor and guess what she told me, guess what she told me? She said 'girl, keep taking the tablets. You are dismissed' Bah!