So…

Why does my desk/sewing table/repository for crappe smell like a kebab. I don’t generally abide by the kebab, it’s a hangover from my Weight Watches addiction, a company which abhors the Kebab almost as much as the Tim Tam.

 

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This morning one of the chickens was carrying on like a chook with it’s head cut off, which is alarming in and of itself.

 

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I’m currently obsessed with Texts from Bennett – if only I’d known jumping jacks would have got rid of that sperm Chef and I would probably be living in New York with a whole spare room transformed into my own shoe closet.

 

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I have made NOTHING for Christmas. Can’t make jams or relishes as I have no jars. Can’t make cakes because I don’t feel like it. Have decided to simply make the eleventy gagillion teachers and aides and whatnot rocky road. That’s about all the enthusiasm I can muster.

 

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I have done no Christmas shopping. I love people suggesting I put some money away each week to cover the upcoming car rego and Christmas presents – guys, school fees + kindy fees + bills + food + petrol = my current chronic headache, teeth grinding, night sweats.

 

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Needless to say I am now looking for freelance writing work for 2012. I’m also turning a few of my posts into articles to form a pitch to every media publication known to man to secure a regular column of some sort. The little business venture which just kept falling over on me this year will also be re-examined.

 

If anyone knows of a paper/magazine/website who you think would be interested in my take on the world, send them my way. Ok? Ok.

 

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I know all the words to Miley Cyrus’s Party in the USA.