Grey is the colour

Okay, for the fifth or seventeenth time this week, I sit down to write an lj entry, and my brain is just a thick mass of porridge. Not even the lumpy kind my mother used to make either, because, hey, that could almost count as nostalgia. Nope, it's just lotsa grey goo, folks, no sugar added.

I'm telling myself it's just stress over needing a job rather fucking badly and not a result of aliens having sucked all the working bits out of my brain. If it is the aliens, though, well, chow down, dudes, I wasn't particularly using them anyway.

My sister has just flitted off to Osoyoos to visit our aunt and uncle, one or both of whom seem to be in the early stages of dementia, and the very, very sad thing for me is that she didn't have time to finish going over my story which I was hoping to post early next week and now I won't be able to, so oh woe and all manner of other alas and alack-ish sentiments. It is to pout.

The other very, very sad thing is that I am even now drinking the very last glass of the Irish whiskey. I may have to resort to going to bed.