Iceberg, dead ahead!

My journal entires of late have all been - homrones work Dom, Dom Dom work hormones, hormones hormones work hormoneswork work, Dom work work hormones. Hormones work work.

Surely I have more going on in my life than that, don’t I? Don’t I?

Do I? Oh bugger

I think I’m heading for my annual birthday freak out crisis. I don’t turn 28 for a couple of months (August 4th) but I need time to build up for it.

I’m going to have to put some things in place before my birthday to divert the crisis, like book myself on some courses or go on holiday or something so I can stop being such a bloody miserable whiner.

Nobody wants to listen to a bloody whingey cow. I don’t! I get really sick of myself when I get like that. It’s boring! I’m too old for existential angst.

Sort yourself out, Eleanor!

Okay, an opinion poll. What fabulous course/hobby/other thing should I start doing to stop me being so bloody dull? Any suggestions?


On a funny note, I wrote a letter to a lady called Mrs Sque today. What a fantastic name! Can you imagine being Mrs Sque?


Quote of the day-
Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away. Phillip K. Dick