Perhaps it's about time to redefine the position of the temperate zones?
I walked about a mile today at a slow pace and by the end it was Melty Death Pool all over again. It's a good thing that we had the tea and scones before the walk along the canal, or I shouldn't have wanted them at all.
Still completely miserable that I couldn't get to BiCon again this year. Most of the time I don't so much mind being broke and a crip but sometimes it gets to me.
The next time some foreigner makes a comment about how small the British Isles are, I shall sit on them in a very Wombatty way.
I'm also royally ficked off at the way that the weather has turned my brain into malevolent pulp. I actually was feeling grim enough that I growled and was snippy and generally horrible to poor Jus this afternoon. That's not like me.
Also I'm at a stuck point in my CBT process. I've hit a kind of inarticulate whirlpool. Those of you who know me well understand what a bad sign it is when I lose my words. And every time I look over the stuff that Jill and I have been working on, I feel worse about me. There's a huge lake of anger, and denial of anger, and denial of denial, anger at that, anger at the whole bloody mess, and incredulous belief that my childhood really was so broken. And then the whole thing inverts and it becomes All My Fault. I know that catastrophising is a bad response, but when you're swimming in the Mare Crisium and trying to dodge the black icebergs, sometimes it does feel just that bad.