It’s all going Pete Tong as the best laid plans fall down around my ears.
I seem to have developed the anti-Midas touch. Oh heck, why not just call it the Mi-dust touch, because that’s what all my carefully made plans have turned into in the past 24 hours.
Seriously. You couldn’t write the script. Couldn’t make this up. Even after seven gins. It’s far too farcical and makeyuppy to be really happening.
But, truth to tell, the devastation of my little Pompeii is still ongoing. So much so that I’m actually afraid to pick up the phone in case yet another tale of woe, cancellation, piece of bad news hits me like a frontal lobotomy square between my rabbit-in-headlights eyes.
Oh, and it’s raining. Again.
The current down-spit is like some kind of spiteful haha metaphor for the continuous disintegration of my life right now. It’s like living in a real life episode of ‘If it can go wrong, it will’.
“Why does it always rain on me? Even when the sun is shining, I can’t avoid the lightning.”
To maintain some semblance of sanity, I’ve spent the past five minutes tub-thumping my Thymus – ours is not to reason why – and ridiculous as that might seem, it works. [The clue is in my Kindnessiology post]. Tapping one’s thymus is a tried and tested kinesiology stress-relieving technique. Tap to the beat of the Blue Danube, insert appropriate mantra, repeat as required and bam, stress symptoms dramatically reduced.
I’m not mocking, far from it.
I’m making light of my current ‘crumbling down around me’ situation. I’ve thumped for relief and am writing for catharsis.
Why does it always rain on me? Answer – it doesn’t. It just seems like that when the ordure (posh word for crap) hits the proverbial fan of life. When it rains, the sky is grey, the air cold, the aspect dull and negative. It’s the same when life rains on our meticulously planned parade.
Previous me would be spitting feathers by now, all toys fecked out of the pram, the words “why me” teasing my mouth into the shape of misfortune. Instead, there’ve been no tornados d’hysteria. Just a few ripples on an otherwise sea of calm. All that remains of a day full of drama is a bruised chest and a list of problems to address.
And address them I will. One by one. They’ll be resolved or resolve themselves. Things do. That’s life.
Why does it always rain on me? It doesn’t. It just seems that way sometimes. The key is to remember that after the rain comes the sun. The darkest hour, is before the dawn. And there will always a new dawn.
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