Thursday, 8 July 2010

Impending Horror and the Caring Buddhist Approach to Life and Death.

I am too depressed to even think about work. I have just realised that there are only twenty-one days left until Recess. Twenty-one days! I can't even be bothered to explain the significance and true horror that Recess signifies to constituency staff now, though no doubt I'll revisit the subject nearer the time. If I haven't thrown myself off a tall building. (I could join Mr Ellis, invite The Boss and make it a media event.)

I am also feeling riddled with guilt about my attitude to Mum - if not quite so bad about Dad. Turns out that idiot brother Robin bought Mum a book on preparing for death for her birthday. Is he quite mad? As if that isn't bad enough, she phones tonight to tell me that he has suggested that he and she go to Paris together this summer, so that Robin - and I quote - "will have something to remember [her] by." No wonder she's been so obsessed with her buttocks and eyelids. I must try to be more sympathetic - as long as I don't make the mistake of carrying that over into my working life. (That way lies madness.) And I must kill "caring Buddhist" Robin. Why are supposedly sensitive people so unbelievably crass when it comes to other people's feelings?

Talking of other people's feelings, I am still feeling horribly guilty about Johnny and the arse photo, especially as his emails have become a lot more frequent this last few days. Think it's 'cause I still haven't agreed to make arrangements for him to see my arse in the flesh. He can't possibly be concentrating on his job very well - so we'll probably hear about a giant oil spill in Russia soon, if this keeps up. Then I'll be to blame, when all those poor Russian fish die and the fishermen starve. Mind you, it is nice to be treated as someone attractive, instead of just a wife, mother and - worst of all - a very poor substitute for an MP. I rather like that last phrase. It is open to a number of different interpretations, which of course suggests that I have learned more from my years at the dull end of politics than I had previously thought. Robin could learn a lot from me, if he stopped chanting and preparing Mum for death and started listening.

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