Monsoon season
Damn

Talk

So Cory, my current houseguest, was dragged out of his bed at some unearthly hour in the morning (after getting lost on the way home) to talk on the Today programme about blogging.

It's the kind of painful, show filling non-story that I used to end up doing on Sky News all the time. "So, Cait Hurley, "internet expert", tell us about MP3's, how do they work then?". Oh, and here's another guest who we managed to get at the lastminute who for £50 is setting themselves up in opposition to your position for no reason other than ego, that they've been asked to go on the tele.

I sometimes think I should have made more of my whacky Sky News status while I had it (I think I got too old and a bit too anti current copyright laws for them on the whole) but then... why? What was I going to do - make a new career as a not-very-good and slightly too awkward in her skin television presenter? Feck off, as the saying goes. Anyway, listening to Edward Sturton mispronouncing Cory's surname (Doctorow) and doing faux-naive for the sake of the 60 year old listeners made me wince with recognition.

In my defence after receiving money from Murdoch-entertainment-corps, I would occasionally turn them down. For example, in a train on the way to my Mum's house... er... well no I don't want to turn around and come back just for the joy of talking about yet another non-story for £70 (sound of slight shock down the phone). I think my ego can survive without external affirmation today, thanks.

But it was a laugh though. I was fucking *terrified* the first time, I remember. When you go blank for a few moments, they seem like half an hour long chasms whereas in fact, you're talking about a third of a second at best. All very silly. And no, I didn't record a single one of them. In retrospect, perhaps I should have, but then, that's setting them up as being somehow a desperately important part of my life: Wow, look at when your Mum was on TV, isn't that great? Whereas they were so singularly unimportant in the grand scheme of things, I'd loathe them to be held up as being some kind of highpoint!

Meanwhile, in other news, I'm still having funny pains around where my right ovary is, and - this is going to sound really paranoid, so I apologise, but whereas last week I was getting rumblings, this week I'm not really receiving any news from the deep. I'm imagining that my body would know soon enough if something was wrong and do something drastic about it but nevertheless I have been thinking dark, awful thoughts which I daren't express on "paper". As I said to my Dad at the weekend - you learn to ignore the pains, given that there's always some weirdness going on you don't recognise. But it's awful the way ... what's it like... ok - it's like one of those massive mirrors or 10 foot wide lasers in movies that block out everything - *everything* from one's line of sight except "it". You have to keep desperately thinking of other things to think about because ever present in your head is this blaring, panicky alarm waiting to engulf you if you let it. (Hence me rabbitting on about Sky bleedin' News for ages, for example).

After having no sleep or about an hour's worth on Sunday I still didn't sleep well last night and am in the middle of having a drastic row with a good friend which is all very grim. It now being around lunch I must fill my face with protein immediately given that I'm beginning to flag again. Weekends are not long enough, and I am coming to the conclusion that I desperately need time off to try and recoup some energy because i seem to be burning very low atm.

Aaanyway.

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