More Cloud Talk

Every now and then - say, ooh, about once a week - you will find me at home dishevelled, swearing and/or crying, sitting in a flailing, confused heap among the detritus of my latest one thousand projects, FREAKING OUT because ALL THIS STUFF is NOT going to get done ON TIME.

At this point Grumpy will sit down next to me, pat me on the back and help me ravel what has become decidedly unravelled. Then when I've calmed down and I am partaking in some chocolate and a refreshing, heavily-iced, carbonated beverage he might venture to suggest that in future I not try to do so much all at once. The nerve!

I think my brain might have finally begun to twig. Last night I dreamt that I had agreed to trundle along with The Burp while she took Bay Leaf and Machiavelli to some sordid kiddie flick. But I was in a panic that I wasn't going to get there on time: the movie was only two hours away and I'd just discovered that Grumpy and Bezley had been kidnapped by a mad CD-store owner. I managed to calm myself down by realising that, yes, I could rescue them and still be on time if I just didn't bother stopping on my way into the cinema for a small popcorn and large coke.