Am heading in to minor meltdown territory. Too much to do, and of course, my job eats my life in huge mouthfuls. Bloody January is plagued by social events, which would be good, if I didn’t have to get this bloody writing done! I have a review for Crime Factory which is chronically overdue (and all the more horrid as I’m having lunch with David today and have already sent him an email of apologies and explanations of slothfulness), and an essay I need to write but don’t seem to be able to (must consult with the person who is supposedly known as my ‘tutor’ even though I never hear from her/them/it). Yum. Just ate sicko chocolate mud cupcake together with some Earl Grey Tea. A definite spirit improver. But still, for those who think I whine (you know who you are), here is my weekend…

Friday: after work go and pick up cds, then head back to Collingwood where I will ponder on going alone to see Seaworthy at good morning captain. Then sleep. Then wake up at, say, 2am and bike over to RRR-FM to meet Danny who has invited me to play some tunes with him on his graveyard shift. Play a track off the as yet unmastered Bidston Moss EP, remind self never to tell the rest of the band I did it. Get back to Collingwood and sleep, hard.

Saturday: wake up and realise I haven’t made potato salad for my sisters birthday picnic which is happening in two hours time. Freak out. Take melty warm potato salad to birthday picnic. Whilst at picnic I thank god that bridesmaids dress fitting at 2pm was cancelled. Get back Collingwood in late afternoon and get myself sorted leave at a quarter to seven to bike (in that dress??) to Lisa’s hen’s night. Restaurant, then bar, then wobbly bike ride back home.

Sunday: Drink water. Sleep in a little bit. Get up – it’s going to be a hot day – move Humber into shade – try to up my word count, but…oh no! More wedding duty. Now have to drive to D’s house to practice songs for wedding – this is bad because:
1) He lives in Boronia – the Tasmania of Melbourne,
2) I don’t know any of the songs and won’t be able to learn them all in time unless I abandon my degree,
3) I want to kick his three year old,
4) I’ll want to drink beer but have to drive home.

Get home at around 7pm totally exhausted, hot, and with car seat patterns attractively adorning the backs of my legs. Too hot to type. Too depressing to think that tomorrow’s Monday. Take brief angst ridden journey into why the hell I don’t just gather up my crud and move north (my job, my job!) and go to bed.

Monday:Wake up for work. Suffer through eight hours of trying not to surf the net and failing. Come home. Band practice for 10Speed. Bed. Tuesday is too far away to imagine.

Note-This little rant reminded me of many important things that were in the process of leaving my building: buy Mae’s birthday present, pick up my strappy sandals, buy potatoes and make potato salad. Phew! Who said blogging was a life vacuum? It just saved my butt!