Mental. Absolutely insane.

The hormones have caught up with me and are playing mercilessly with my sanity levels. One moment I am fine, happily staring out of the window or trying to work out how I can slip the phrase "there she was, resplendent in beige" into a sentence, and the next, WHAM! I am floored, head in hands and incapable of doing anything but wail slightly and curse my diet for not letting me eat. I mean, I can eat, but not the things I really want. Like spoonfuls of lard covered in Nutella with some foie gras perched atop, you know the sort of thing.

The diet as a whole is going, well, alright, but I'm not as miraculously thin as I may have given the impression of being in my last post. This I will also blame on the hormones. Stupid fattening hormones, making me all irritable, unhappy and whale-like (only in fatness, not in being able to spray water out of my head, or swimming lots in the ocean.)

I truly and sincerely believe that they are making me scatty as well. I have been known to be scatterbrained before (for a whole year in primary school a teacher never called me by my name, always referring to me as Miss Scatterbrain/Miss Scatty or something along those lines. I pointed out to her that, as a feminist, I prefer 'Ms', but she paid no heed) but not to the extent I am right now, on this Thursday (I remember what day it is! Good start.)

So it is a cycle. The scatterbrainedness: forgetting to do something; forgetting what to say when I pick up the phone; forgetting that if I walk into things either I or they will fall over, and chances are it'll be me. Then the repercussions of my scatterness: a telling off; a panicked excuse about a 'dodgy line'; a confused and painful few moments on the floor. Then the paranoia: I am going to be fired/I'm a horrible friend/everyone hates me; they know I'm lying; I think I've broken my leg. Then the irritation and self-loathing: I cannot believe I would be so stupid as to be fired from a job I should be able to do with my eyes closed and hands tied behind my back whilst buried in a tin can six miles north of Aberdeen/I liked that friendship and now I've gone and broken it; what sort of a twod (new word) lies about something like that?; who breaks their LEG? That is so mid-nineties I could cry. Then the resulting unhappiness. Rendering me unable to do anything/remember where I am and what I am meant to say/walk around large objects like desks, doors and colleagues. And so it starts all over again.

Hormones, I can only conclude, are knobs.

To add to that I am physically shaky and my hair is behaving in a very odd manner. It is all blow-y. I think it is trying to convey a message to me. I think... hang on, wait, what was that? Oh, yes, as I thought. It wants me to eat cake. Yes. Cake and... hang on, there's more... and pizza? Pizza? Bad hair! It is very devious. Don't worry, music video people, I will not bend to the naughty whimsy of my hair. The only cakes I will eat will be the rice ones.

(Other symptoms of Hormonal Behaviour: thinking one is Medusa. Except with talking hair/snakes that demand fattening foodstuffs.)

I must go now before I start openly wondering whether perhaps my fingernails are petulantly petitioning for some chocolate mousse and chips.

UPDATE, LATER THAT DAY:

The thing was, though, that everyone else was having an ice cream. Then I happened to mention that I was having a horrible day and the next thing I knew there was Magnum all in my mouth. Which I had accidentally given someone £1.10 to get from the shop for me.

I was good, though. I left the whole stick.