I'd like to thank my underwear

for all the support it's given me....

But seriously, I think i'm getting one of these shiny gold ones.

Because I'm going off my rocker here and no one seems to have noticed, which must mean that I'm the best actress ever in the history of the world.

Move OVER Winslett, HerMaj is coming (and has better nipples too, naturally).

My much discussed father is on the fade. I'd like to rage against the dying of the light but I can't quite bring myself to consider it in any greater depth than I have so far because it makes my whole body hurt. Let's not even touch on how my psyche screams.

Dogs on Russian space stations must be able to hear it.

If there is someone out there, they will hear my rising distress and steer well clear of this entire planet.

I don't know what to do.

I suppose I'm supposed to brave and strong, after all, I'm the one of us to survive.

But really i'd quite like to smash things and be held by stable strong arms while I rant and rave and be pampered and spoiled and then wake up and find I just dreamed it all anyway.

Fortunately for me, you could walk around my office trailing a bloody limb and make no impact so my disintegration is unnoticed .

When I passed comment on Dad collapsing earlier today, my boss reached passed me for a tea spoon and went back into his office.

Such support. Really. Thank you. Your kind words help me make it through the day. NO, not you, dear reader.

And so I got on with what I was doing, inspite of the elephant sat on my chest and the sombrero headache wedged above my eyebrows.

I realise coping is what we're supposed to do. We're designed to do it.

But I'd rather go first. (please note, i'm not suicidal, this is just a statement of fact)

It's the ultimate in having the last word on the subject.