The longer it is, the harder it gets

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been thirty -four days since my last blog post, and these are my sins….. *(I looked that up on, lots of advice on how to Catholic there).

Wow!  Being irreverent is HaaaaRRD, with a capital H for Hard, at the moment. Look, see it’s right there at the beginning of the word.  I’m so saturated with BREXIT and the Trump clown and TTIP and some papers in Panama and mounting racism and xenophobia and sexism just about everywhere, (including at work); that it’s been impossible for the humour to find the strength to shift the giant emotional shit plug that’s currently blocking the way.

And whatever you do, do not post photos of your puppies or recommend that episode of Girls where Hannah’s nana (spoiler alert) <stage whispers> ‘crosses over‘.  Actually, most episodes of Girls.  Do not stop in your tracks to leer at me in the street with your ninety-year old toothless face when I’m a sweaty, huffy post-run mess.  Not that I’m ageist or gummist; it’s just really annoying.  Or say with absolute conviction that, ‘the women want to be in charge of the house’, because I might just burst into tears.  Or get a little bit stabby.  And then burst into tears. Because the world is a swirling cesspit at the moment.  N.B. Baby photos really have no effect either way, so…. go for your life with those.

Annie P’s daily game face – showtime

For the most part I’ve been perfecting my hermitting skills, and by all accounts, I’m pretty bloody good at it.  I’ve only been getting it together to run or go to work.  Socialising is at an all time low – well, all time low for this year at least, so not really, but you get the idea.

And like anything, it seems that the longer you leave it (writing that is), the harder it gets.  Like getting out of bed on Sunday, apologising, having sex, shaving your armpits, feeling love, being social.  So, I realise that the only way to lift this funk is to push myself out of my pyjama-clad, binge-watching comfort zone and DO something about it myself.  Ain’t nobody else gonna do it for me, honey.  <read in southern drawl>.   So, the first step is right here; crap writing or not.  Second is a friend’s birthday on Saturday.

Wish me luck becoming human again.

*is it weird that I always really quite fancied going to confession, even though I am in no way religious?  I think it might be a sexual thing……


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