Method for Madness

It won't take a Holmes to see that I've been in a bit of a funk recently. And, of course, that I have made valiant efforts to pull myself out of it. How successful the attempts were is a story for another day. :)

"Now, young lady, one reason for the long face and the intensely crabby manner...and a categorical one, if you please."

"Eh? Reason? I'll give you reasons."

"Go ahead."

"It's like this", I pause to moisten my lips, and Sense can see that I am beginning to quail. "Like this", I pick up where I left off, only I have nowhere to go with my explanation. "I'm low and blue and disorganised and cluttered and thoroughly muddled", I rattle off defensively. Let's see if she can fault that. If you ask me, those are substantial reasons for as long a face as anyone can choose to make.

Sense is not impressed. It won't take a Holmes to see that either.

And that is how I find myself standing at my desk, pencil and Post-It in hand, ready to draw up a to-do list. Sense tells me four-fifths of the funk comes from being behind schedule on practically everything - stuff I'm supposed to do and extra stuff that I've taken on in fits of enthusiasm.

"It would help if you restricted hobbies to after you finish urgent, deadline-driven work", Sense says pointedly, glancing at my oil pastels and the three books I recently picked up.

"But I like these bet-..." Off her expression, I allow the protest to peter out. [What?! You wouldn't want to mess with her either, when she looks like that.]

"Right". I dutifully put my dissertation material and a couple of other books (which, in all fairness, deserve a lot more time than I have given them so far, seeing as how I took this up - it wasn't forced on me) on top of the desk, aligned neatly in the centre, one sharpened pencil, a new eraser and a blue ink pen lying beside them.

I tack the Post-Its onto my cupboard and determinedly put everything else away. Taking a deep breath, I laugh scornfully at the blues in my head. That'll show them! Congratulations, I smile beam at myself in the mirror.

Then I pull out a Wodehouse, and begin reading.

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