A little ticking time bomb

7.30am, A head like thunder.

See, first thing in the morning I woke up, and was wide awake, and bordering on bouncy. Even once realising it was, at that point, 4am and frankly the wrong first thing in the morning it made no difference at all. My mind bounced from pillar to post, round the dreams Id been having, all of the upsets and anger and greustration of the weekend, how much I hadnt done, how much there was still left to do.

An hour and a half later I finally slipped back into feverish sleep.

I had to get up. I had to get up, and I couldnt delay it any longer. My beloved didnt, but did anyway, I was being quite so foul-tempered and bangy with my morning.

I checked my email. My poor old dad made the sorry mistake of attempting to halloo me on the IM machine, and I damn near bit his little beardy head off.

On the way out of the house I happened to leave at the same time as one of the neighbours that Id last spoken to at midnight, begging them with my head out of the window to smoke at the back of their house instead, or in their house, or anywhere else, or at least stop shouting, them and their half dozen pals, because please, please, please I needed to sleep. We didnt look at each other first thing this morning.

I kicked my way through the day, trying not to come across like I was about to bite someones head off, and generally failing. For half the day the Monday cookies Id baked last night stayed in my bag, too angry was I to deal with pleasant conversation about cookie flavours.

There were teenage girls on the train home, laughing at everything with high-pitched, horsey laughs, constantly, for forty minutes straight.

Nothing, I thought, nothing In the WORLD is that fucking amusing. In fact, today, nothing is amusing at all.

On the way back down the hill I walked past the nice quiet house well be living in in a couple of weeks and, distracted by it, I stood in a puddle.

Calming myself down, I did my little breathing exercised, and decided I wanted to write something light and breezy for the site, remove myself from myself and my day once more.

Then someone reminded me that I cant spell, I cant type, that I knock these things off too fast, that I should only blog if I can write in words I can type with my eyes tied behind my back and my hands shut, and whats the fucking point anyway?

Im going to go to bed in a minute, and then, when I wake up, the worlds going to be all lovely and new.

It is, Im sure of it.