Today is Friday and Friday is good. Because Friday is the end of the week which doesn't mean that work is over, but that my obligation to be at work is over.

There's too much that needs doing before next Friday which is going to mean the end of work, and being at work for more than 10 days. What luxury.

The week started with the boss coming into my office and saying to me, "You forgot about the annual review of your performance and contributions to our great institution didn't you?"

I answered incorrectly. Twice.

"What review?", then "Oh shit!"

The correct response would have been, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

Fortunately, he was pressed for time himself and so we adjourned the event till later.

We shall see how this affects my performance review.

I'm feeling anxious today. And for no particular reason except that it's mid August and the letters of intent are coming by the dozen. I should clarify, the DEADlines for the LOIs are flying by fast and furiously. Mostly furiously, as for example when we find out that the deadline is the next day and all of a sudden, everything has to be postponed to complete this.

It's very disrupting. The blueberries I've been eating don't help with this somehow.

Nonetheless, the NCK (not so new now) was over for some QQ rolls and alcohol on Wed. The bottles have to be killed off, and it's beyond me to do so. It's his responsibility, and that of DWE's, but they both failed miserably at the last gathering.

See if they're invited to the next gathering.

Does the Pope really wear Prada like ML claims? Why this suddenly popped into my head, I have no idea. Why shouldn't he wear Prada? Perhaps like members of the Royal Family who boost the sales of British Designers by wearing their designs, he does the same for Prada? Could this be it? Maybe he gets paid for this.

Why doesn't someone pay me for something like this? Why indeed? Because I'm a shy retiring violet. Yes, that's it. The other reasons are not to be countenanced.

Lo, I would kill for a chocolate biccy now, but I must resist because I'm supposed to be having lunch with Dr. J later today and we've decided to go for Japanese Noodles. And I can't be having too many choco biccies and noodles for there be events coming up in September where one must look one's best, or maybe not. I wish, I knew. But if wishes were pots and pans, then gypsies would be homeowners or something like that. Don't ask. I hardly know what I'm saying here. Actually, i don't.

But the Pope and Prada - there's something wrong about that. And it bothers me.

Lavender is tenacious of life. It's true, cut a shoot, stick it in soil, and lo, the next year, it's a bush. This will be very useful in the months to come. In fact, I've cut and stuck 6 little twiglets already. In soil that was purloined from 'them'. Them who have moved on. So fortunate. No more unsightly bending over early in the morning to show off thongs that go up the butt crack to be witnessed before I've had my coffee.

Lemons. Yes. Lemons!

Nigella Cake in Oranges Too! What a good idea. Jaffa cakes as it were. Which brings me to the mess that is my oven. And from the oven to my head where it's even messier. Too bad there is no brain cleaner like there is oven cleaner - spray and step back, then rinse off with copious amounts of water, and try not to breathe any of the fumes in.

Where there is waste, there is smell, generally unless you aerate well. And last night was well aerated so there was no smell, but this didn't mean there was no mess. There was. And the mosquitoes were out in full force too. Damn them.

So fortunate family-sized boxes of Honey Nut Cheerios were on sale. So much so that i had to buy a large carton of milk as well. It's all JP's fault - he should never have told me stories about HNCs as snacks, nor showed me the box of HNCs that was in his cupboard for this created cravings that are insatiable - not to say I haven't tried to fulfil them.

And what's the point. There is no point. It's all random, meaningless, and has no discernible pattern to it. Except the big joke is that you sometimes think you can see a pattern in the whole mess that is life, and then hope is raised, and when hope is raised, there's the danger that they are dashed. And the dashing is hard to take sometimes for unlike a dash of salt, this dashing of hopes does nothing for your state of mind. Good thing I'm used to being dashed upon the sharp, cold, uncaring rocks of disappointment, and have unknowingly taken in, assimilated and picked out the pith of Stoicism (a form of philosophy or so Dr. C tells me) with my fine intellectual tweezers.

So there you go. I feel somewhat less anxious now that I know there's no point to anything.  No, really, nothing. Well, except maybe choccy biccies with a hot cuppa.