Children all over the world are sending up silent prayers of thanks that I'm not their mother. You wanted a box lunch, that is a damned box lunch. A rough night doesn't agree with either my temper or my constitution, and I survey the luggage under my eyes helplessly. Mere cosmetic repair is pointless, this requires serious surgical intervention. I don't bother trying to address the ravages and start thinking of plausible stories instead if I'm called upon to explain the new look. Hopefully, today's deadline will keep everyone focused elsewhere.

The walk stiffens my spine and my brain kicks in, sifting, analysing, assessing. Ideas, thoughts, plans. The little guinea pigs furiously spinning in their wheels, masking the rising bile of fear. At work, I try and focus but am plagued by indecision, warring with the need to move forward. I just don't know. That's the bottom line. And it's the not knowing that churns my stomach distracting me from my plans of a pre-emptive strike and not very good sandwiches. The ominous dong from the phone perplexes me. Shit! Coffee. This had seemed like a good idea at the time. Why do all my ideas seems like good ideas 'at the time'???!!!!