|The Diary of a Closet|
Do you ever get the feeling a God of some description is for some reason using you as sorm form of annoying executive desk toy? Leaves you alone completely for months and you can relax safe in the knowledge that your glossy metallic balls aren't going to be clacked and then sudden;y remembers you're there for a bit and faffs around with you in an attempt to make you do irriatating things you weren't designed to? Well I do. Stop looking at the screen like I'm a freak. Shame on you.
I've decided that OD is a blight on my relationships as they seem to start going awry as soon as I mention them. Last entry all was going swimmingly, this week I'm feeling a touch outcast and neglected... Louise seems to have no time for me at the moment. It may well just be the paranoia of a man that's been messed around too much by treacherous Sheffieldian Donkey-Witches but I like to think that gives me my edge. Oh well, we'll see!
I've also had a rather hard week at work what with all the staff being off with stomach bugs, gout, spontaneous human combustion, syphillis and death, all the kids are going mental as it's near the end of term and our normally rigid schedule has begun erroding and I've not felt particularly healthy. Add to this the fact I'm enjoying my homelife about as much as pensioners enjoyed care by Harold Shipman and you'll understand why my mood can be reffered to as a little sub-standard.
On the plus side I'm not pregnant. Mainly because I have a willy, but if Arnold Schwarznegger managed it then so can I. I'm far more of a man than he is! Yeah Arnie, that's a challenge to a manly game of Warhammer. You're doomed! DOOMED!
What else to say... ummm... I think that's it... God I'm lame.