My resolutions have repeatedly hit the net. Today in SW11 saw chipped nails, filthy hair, and mascara that's older than a mayfly. But my collection of dayglo wayfarers arrived, in time to hold my greasy hair off my forehead. The sort of torpor that you only get five days after a wedding has set in, and I feel a bit flat. However, it's not as bad as Boxing Day, the whole of February, or after late August Bank Holiday - when you realise there isn't another day off 'til Christmas. To cap it all my secure reporting system wasn't working, so I had nothing to distract me. I had no choice, I had to tackle the 'To Do Box Box.' No, not an anagram for Botox, or not unless I've been drinking heavily, but the box of red bills, old parking tickets and final demands that requires weekly debridement. I hate it when I can't prevaricate.
I wrote the last of the thank you letters. I paid my tax bill for July. I challenged a few PCNs, and I even put some wedding presents on eBay. I ignored multiple pointless emails from the ex. I added a couple of hundred cities I've visited on FB. I even considered doing some exercise. This was, in fact, Class A prevaricating, stopping me from starting my book. Well, I've started it, just as I've started loads of others. I just can't get past a thousand words.
Maybe tomorrow I'll hit two thousand and one.
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