Pyjama Party

I turned to Lilsister earlier to tell her that we really must get together to work on our stand up comedy routine, but she was busy scratching her arse, through her completely awful pyjamas – which are white with green trees on them, and the trees say ”smelly”.  I myself am a firm believer in good pyjama wear, particularly as I am wearing aforementioned pyjamas from about 6pm onwards most weeknights.  My current attire is matching top and bottoms that say ”fabulous” over and over again.  Hopefully the incessant message will get through to somebody, anybody, and they will confirm it, and my ego will soar (assuming I can find it, it has been buried rather deep lately).

Life plods on as it generally must, and flits between days at work and days of joy when I am not.  I am getting the hang of it, and find that lately I have ceased to dribble at the end of the day in sheer tiredness, and can generally manage to say words and stuff to my comrades, as I bolt out the door.  And I mean bolt.  It has actually been commented on about how quickly I move when I am going home.  There is simply a flash of light, some flames, and I am no more.

I am trying to see the beauty of life after the news of my sick friend, but stupidly, before he told me he was dying, I ordered a book by a writer who was diagnosed with cancer, and wrote about his experiences with the end of his life.  This book arrived about two days after my friend told me his news, and it has been pretty much impossible to read without being upset.  For some insane reason, I bought the book to stop me moaning so much, and hoped it would make me appreciate what I (don’t?) have but the idea has backfired in a spectular fashion, so I have a sick friend, an expensive book I can’t afford, many tears, and still bad humours about work.  Success!

I’ve also bought a big bag of jellies, which I can’t stop eating, and now that I have approached the sweet press (have I told you about our sweet press?  So many calories and cures for depression, stuck in between two shelves – our happy place) and tucked in, Scarydancer is following suit by raiding the sweet press himself and locating his own snake shaped jellies, and Lilsister is contemplating eating crisps.  Domestic bliss.


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