The prose might be a little rudderless today. I'm in one of those mental holding patterns I enter from time to time. I'm subject to that slightly unnerving feeling you get when you're sat in the dentist's waiting room, waiting for the local anaesthetic to kick in before the fracking begins in earnest. This makes it hard to unboss the eyes and get on with things.
I'm my own worst enemy at times like this. Bitter experience has taught me that getting stuck into work or chores brightens my mood hugely. Despite this, I always vacillate when bored. This prolongs the moment of inaction and makes my mood worse. Even jotting this guff down requires a decent run up at pres. But once I begin, it's quite therapeutic. For me I mean, not the reader. Don't look at me like that - I'm not Claire Rayner.
The wayward psychological steering has also put me behind somewhat with the old Xmas shopping. I made some progress last weekend in Norwich, but since then nuttin'.
Come on, you - finger out.
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