For peculiar reasons, it is dangerous for me to admit this right now, but I’m tired.  I’m always tired, this is not news, but in some quarters, me being tired is causing concern.  Not any quarters containing anyone who knows fuck about shit, but the problem with my life is that people who know nothing about me, and even less about my impairment, have far too much influence over my life.

Ironically, I lose sleep over these people.

It is being resolved, but Jesus, it’s tedious.

Anyway, today I was tired, and a meeting I was expecting to happen got postponed, and I was tired, and my legs were hurty hurty, and I was tired, and I couldn’t do much work until after I had had that meeting, and I was tired, so I just went home, tired.

Don’t tell another living soul.  Tired?  Me?  Never!

When I got home, I had a bath and, for reasons you will have to discuss with the psychologist I do not have, I wanted a The Enchanter bath, even tho they smell exactly like Monsters’ Ball, which is newly released for Hallowe’en.

I had two The Enchanters left.  Now I have one.

I jumped in the bath, and – Jesus! – it was the best bath I have ever had.  There is a direct correlation between how much fuckwittery there is in my life, and how much I enjoy my baths.  First, there is something massively decadent about having a bath just after 7pm, when usually I am either at work or on my way home from work.  Second, no one can get to me in the bath.  They can send emails.  They can call.  I won’t respond.  I’ll be in my bath, dipping my head in orange and lime scented water, watching the yellow swirls, playing with my toy octopus, shaving my legs, daydreaming, sometimes having entire conversations in my head in which I tell dunderheaded people they are dunderheads, but no one can touch me, no one can touch me, no one can touch me.

It’s going to be fine.  But it’s very boring.  Great bath, tho.  Great bath.


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