I think I am probably the best defeatist out there. There's no-one like me for lamenting that the glass is gone let alone half empty, I truly struggle sometimes to keep the old mop top above water. Today's wailing and gnashing of teeth was for the entire everything. I was fuelled up and angry all day long.
I was angry at the alarm clock, angry at the snooze button, angry at getting up, angry at sleeping, angry at having a shower in the morning not the evening, angry at eating breakfast, angry at the weather, angry at the pile of things still to do and that's before I'd even set foot out of the door. I think you get the general gist of the rage.
It lasted for better part of the whole day at which point anger gave way to desolation, tears and can't. That word that optimists say doesn't exist. I feel like I think Princess Buttercup must have felt when she fell into the quicksand pit in the fire swamp - sinking, sinking, sinking, unable to breathe, move or save myself. I need my Dread Pirate Roberts to swoop in and save the day. Which he inevitably does - praise be. But unfortunately it doesn't shake the positively negatory hardwiring that kicks in from time to time. When there is no point to anything and everything is pointless. Why get up, why try, why breathe, why bother.
Operation F.I.D has created this huge pressure point - although I am aware and accept there must be other reasons for the why - and it is, I think, the main catalyst for the latest quicksand sinkhole. Words with bridezilla (kidding x) have given this underachieving grasshopper an out clause which I feel sure we'll need. I can't even begin to breathe easy yet. And time, that tick tocker, that cheeky little blighter which continues to just slide on by without a by your leave runs away even further and that internal to-do monologue gets longer and longer and louder and louder.