Brrr...

So I'm now midway through a particularly brutal working fortnight of playing expert in half a dozen subjects and trying hard to stay on the bucking bronco that's standing in for my normally placid schedule. But I had most of the weekend off so I won't complain about working conditions etc., at least not til I've finished the next set of meeting notes.

Today I genuinely think that I have nothing to say. Which, in the style of most bloggers, is really not going to stop me from saying that nothing in as much excruciating detail as I possibly can. So fact 1: I'm now out of Baileys, that deceptive fluid that cleverly disguises alcohol as christmas-pudding sauce. And fact 2: I'm worked off my feet, my house is in chaos, but I'm still managing to float around on a contentedly happy cloud. I appear to have discovered (without any conscious effort) the secret of being negatively depressed. As in the opposite of depressed: not just happy, but positively blissful without any conscious effort on my part. Maybe it's a karma thing: several years of depression have just magically gone into reverse and I'm about to spend years sporting a soppy grin. Maybe the thing that soaked up all my seratonin suddenly started rejecting it and leaving way too much of it floating round my endocrine system. And before anyone points out the Baileys, this is a sober thing too (and there wasn't that much left in the bottle). It's not love because there's been plenty of time to acclimatise to that lately; whatever it is, it feels good and I am very glad and deeply happy (maybe that's seratonin etc etc) that it's happening to me. Random whittering over. Roger and out etc. etc.