I had 3 days annual leave from work last week, which gave me about a week and a half off work in total due to my part-time regime. As I had no money and the time off was a last-minute decision I didn’t go anywhere exciting. Most days I just dossed around the house, watching telly, blogging and eating crap (as usual). The days just merged into one long solo slumber party. I did leave the house a few times, though I can’t remember why now.

And I bet that you guys didn’t notice much of a difference. I’m still a damn lazy blogger. I don’t know why you even bother to read this blog: it’s not as funny as Dr M or ES, as aesthetic as BV, as inspiring as SW or AV or AW or LS, as informed as AGD, as sexy as NoS, nor as dismal as that spineless JMC (thank godness). I’m not even a superhero like CI. For a so-called “aspiring writer” I’m not writing much, even my blog posts are rarely more than 100 words.

Oh I know, you just come here for the Sunday soft-porn show – you filthy perverts.

Sorry, I wasn’t supposed to write all of that. Last Thursday I was in such a massive rage, it was bubbling in my stomach like a fizzy lake of acid at the base of a volcano. I swallowed it and gave you all a chance to be rude instead, but as usual the bile which I kept inside still leaked out in tiny puddles of mean (like now, in case you didn’t realise – and I have NOT wet myself!).

You really don’t want me to let it all out at once. I’ve never actually completely lost my temper or released my rage. I think the free world would probably end at that moment. I would turn into some kind of mythological beast and terrorise you all with my two heads and razor-sharp fangs. I would demand daily sacrifices of the young and firm of every land, starting with Paris Hilton and Britney J-Lo. I would vanquish my enemies with fireballs (you first J.D.).

I’d probably look a bit like this, though not as pretty:

So you had all better keep me sweet. Agreed?

And by the way, I hate you all.

There’s nothing nicer than going out for a walk to see if the local supermarket is open on a Bank Holiday Monday.

It was a lovely day; the sun was shining. The streets were empty, and I traversed the back streets of my neighbourhood on my way to Tesco.

I walked past a house. A UB40 tune blared out of an upstairs window. Music for slow, sexy dancing.

Further down the road a car had paused. Rap music pumped from its speakers, the bass vibrating through me.

On the way back home a woman of my mother’s age smiled at me, and asked me if I was okay as I passed her. I nodded and smiled back.

The peak of the British summer was straddling my shoulders, like a delighted child held up by her daddy at the Notting Hill Carnival. Unlike that child, who will never be so young again, the summer will return; if not tomorrow, then next year.

Now I’m back indoors, but the summer day is reluctant to go to bed. Pale streaks suggest ebbing sunlight along the dark blue sky.

I’ll tell you why tomorrow.

This is not a happy blog.

This is not a pop-culture blog, though I have been known to blog about pop culture stuff from time to time.

This is not a writing blog, since I am not writing. I am only blogging.

This is not a lit blog, though sometimes I blog about my latest reads.

This is not a sex blog, but I reserve the right to tell you all about my sexual exploits, if and when they occur.

This is not a humour blog, but sometimes I take the mickey out of silly folks.

This is not a political blog. Nor is it a religious blog.

This is just a blog about a girl who is trying to find her way.

I’m feeling like crap again. I seem to have picked up a bug at work, which has manifested itself as fatigue, blinding headaches and a sore throat since Friday evening.

You’re probably sick of all the memes and quizzes on this blog; I know I am.

I haven’t written much in the last week or so on here, nothing of any consequence anyway.

I have a love/hate relationship with this blog. Tonight I hate it. In the morning maybe things will be different.

Today was a good/average day overall, which does not explain my sudden downward spiralling.

I saw a fat bloke knitting with bright pink wool on the train. He’d just started his “piece” so I couldn’t tell what it was going to become.

At lunchtime a guy stopped me in the street and exclaimed, “If you were my girl, I’d…” He didn’t finish his sentence (thankfully). I walked on.

Later on, a cute guy said hi to me. I was on a mission so I hurried on.

I’ve almost finished this book I’m reading, it’s a nice romance about a photographer and a scientist by Michelle M. Pillow.

My neck aches. Going to go. I hate this blog. Does that mean I hate me? Probably.

Good night.