There are times when I would dearly love to pour my heart out onto these pages. To squeeze every last drop from it, like water from a sponge, so that I might watch it bounce back. It gets heavy, you see, sodden with every upset, mine and yours. It swells with every tear it sucks up. I am a sucker in the suckiest sense, as greedy for weltschmerz as I am for schadenfreude. I never know whether to laugh or cry. Skadeglädje är den enda sanna glädjen, but what does that make weltschmerz? Honey to this bee.
So lend me your troubles. I'd appreciate the distraction. I'm worried, and facing a worrisome week. This Wednesday I find out if I still have a job come February. Well, not a job, but my job. I don't want to be a victim of the current economic climate. I'm a gaeilgeoir, for fuck's sake. I can't emigrate.
On Thursday my favouritest doggle, The Blonde, is to have surgery to see if she has a tumour on her bowel. And that worries me so much that I can't even think about it.
So lend me your troubles. I'd appreciate the distraction. I'm worried, and facing a worrisome week. This Wednesday I find out if I still have a job come February. Well, not a job, but my job. I don't want to be a victim of the current economic climate. I'm a gaeilgeoir, for fuck's sake. I can't emigrate.
On Thursday my favouritest doggle, The Blonde, is to have surgery to see if she has a tumour on her bowel. And that worries me so much that I can't even think about it.
