To a man with a hammer, everything begins to look like a nail. Since I started strengthening my grip with those coiled spring handles, everything suddenly looks like a neck to wring.
I've been banking on the return to work to bring back the joie de vivre, but I'm still waiting for it to kick in.
Even though I'm glad I stayed away from last weekend's deifheid barbie and babble, I didn't make good use of my freedom, and the evening felt wasted.
I swam yesterday in sunshine but took little pleasure in it.
The wasps have been stinging for 3 straight days. You can't blame them when the bonehead hacking at their tree just won't take the hint.
I stupidly popped a tooth out of its moorings. The one that was so laboriously root-canalised last year. Now I've to wait and see if it goes ballistic and has to be pulled.
Thanks to the marvellous bliss pills, I'm immune to low spirits. But there's more to optimism than just a lack of pessimism.
Next week the clients will come in, and things will take off. That's nice, but the day will come when I stop work for good, and what will I fall back on then? My one and a half friends (even less since the dog died)? I daresay I could keep busy in the garden and on the web, but there's something to be said for euthanasia.
Happily, these are only feelings, which will pass.
PS - I was simply tea-deprived since Monday. One cup later, and the world's pretty wonderful again. Muddah Faddah kindly disregard this letter.