They say all good things come to an end. As I type this, I am in the funk that settles when one really understands that one's holiday has ended and one will be returning to work tomorrow morning. The sludgy fugue in which I am currently mired might be attributed to being slightly hungover; I went out with a friend last night and watched a band, and whilst not drinking to excess per se, I did have more than my usual two drink limit.
Things on the home front are not yet resolved, but progress has been made. Exactly what this progress is, I will not elaborator upon just yet. Don't get me wrong, I would love to outpour all my aggravation and grievances like a torrent of water bursting through a crack in a dam wall, but discretion and common sense must prevail, after all. If I bare my soul, some people will be hurt. However, I am seriously out of fucks to give for those who will be hurt because they have hurt me and mine first. Also, if I bared my soul now, I might just find myself in A&E with a self-inflicted bullet wound to my foot. But watch this space, I might be able to reveal what's going on soon-ish. Whilst domestic matters are in limbo, or purgatory, I sometimes feel I am in Hell. Being unable to make progress on renovations is very teeth-gnashing.
But yes, I've been on holidays. Years ago, my holidays entailed sprawling on a deckchair by a swimming pool, sipping from frothy alcoholic drinks with paper umbrellas in them. This time I just took leave to coincide with school holidays to do stuff with my kids. To be honest, my holidays were somewhat sedate, save for attending the Live Aid Tribute concert last week. Funnily enough, I have won tickets to another tribute act, that being Queen. I will take my youngest with me to watch the show.
Yes, I think I've had the quietest holidays ever this time. I didn't write very much at all. I did attend a funeral in my home town for a lovely man, who was only in his late fifties. Thankfully the Tea Urn Nazis weren't catering at the wake. I know that's probably not their real name, but I've dubbed them thus a few years ago after I attended the joint funeral of my friend's parents, who tragically yet beautifully passed within hours of each other, and when I arrived at the wake, parched and starving, was told by these beldames I could not have a cup of tea until the family arrived. After I asked were they kidding, and they assured me they were not, I snapped that if it was too much trouble I would simply go into the adjoining bar and purchase a cup of tea there. With bad grace, they let me make a cup of tea and insisted I let nobody see me drinking it. I resisted the urge to point out it was a FUCKING CUP OF TEA AND NOT SECRET GOVERNMENT FILES, and drank the damned thing. My grieving friend was infuriated when I told her about this.
So quiet has my time been lately, the only real thought I have had is Kenny Loggins seems to specialise in cheesy soundtracks. Think about it. 'Footloose', in the eponymous movie. 'Danger Zone' in 'Top Gun', and 'I'm All Right' from 'Caddyshack'. I am wondering should I be worried that I have actually sat down and thought this through! On the flipside, I am aware this post reads in a rather depressing tone, because to be honest, I have been down in the dumps over stuff - HOWEVER! - as Kenny sings in Caddyshack (with a gopher dancing): 'I'm all right - nobody worry about me...'
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