Craptastic

Ok, so I think we've established that I'm not very good at keeping these things up on a regular basis. Or perhaps just that, when things are a bit tough, I don't really use this for its intended purpose: The Random Rantathon. People always tell you that you should 'Write it down!' when you are struggling and miserable and when life is getting you down, you can always go...down town. Errrr, to pen a literary masterpiece or hit the shops? What a choice. How about listening to really depressing music and staring into space every time you get a precious moment in which to indulge your melancholy? Because that's what I've come to realise recently: time for wallowing is pure luxury. The only problem that this seems to kick up is, while you're mindlessly carrying on, the God of Knackeredness has a tendency to leap up and bite you in the arse. One morning, you find you simply cannot raise your leaden frame and you realise you have hit that almighty wall of exhaustion. It doesn't help that your little one year old son has given you a stinker of a cold at the same time and you feel that your brain is actually slowly leaking from your nostrils. Pleasant. And why is that, on the days you feel a bit lively, the weather has conspired to keep you in all day with said child who is insistent upon doing everything possible to fatally maim himself? Ah well, the cold is abating, the weather seems genial again, and Melancholia has buggered off somewhere else for the day. Bring on the washing up! I can conquer mountains of house-related activities today! Until a certain little piglet awakes, screeching his gungy face off and we have the inevitable pitched battle to get us out of the house in one (or maybe two) piece(s) so that he can try to kill himself outside of the home for a change.