I've got the grumbles.

I'm having a bad day. Not that anything has gone wrong, per se, I'm just feeling shitty and down, and moody and grumpy. A bad combination, wouldn't you agree?

And all for a heap of reasons, none of which really make any sense. I can hear myself being a bitch to people; I know my thought patterns today aren't very wholesome or good, yet I can't quite snap out of it. I'd like to put it down to sleep deprivation, but I've actually had a whole lot of zzz's, even though my dreams have been filled with not so nice things lately. I wouldn't call them nightmares as such, just really vivid dreams about things I'd rather not think about. And the same recurring horrible one involving The Pedophile and my father throwing knives at me from behind a couch in a creepily Sidekick Bob kind of way. Shudder.

So I haven't a lot to blog. I had a great weekend away, even though it made things a whole lot worse with Chef and I - something I actually didn't think was humanly possible - and as the dogs had such a wonderful time, they haven't made it out of bed yet. I'd feel mean dragging their exhausted arses to the beach when they're hardly able to walk without falling asleep, yet I feel the need to get away and not so much relax as...unwind. I need some sort of brain-fog clearing miracle that usually only sand under my feet or excessively speeding in my car while singing to Robbie Williams can give me.

I was meant to get my hair cut today, but I can't afford it. Instead I need to go buy leafy green vegetables and organic dead animals to gnaw on instead of my usual-of-late junk food, as Jamie Oliver's 'Eat To Save Your Life' series has scared me into a horrifying heath and fitness regime.

All I crave is chocolate.

I'm also shitty about the upcoming weekend. Chef's going to see his family for some sort of belated birthday dinner, and spending the weekend down there as he wants to go see some sort of four wheel driving competition going on. I'd said I wanted to go - and kind of do - as I love mud, big cars and throbbing engines as much as the next girl (or perhaps slightly more..) but due to my foul mood, I changed my mind and decided I'd attempt a guilt trip about the fact I never get to dress up. Seriously. I'm upset about the fact I spend my life in baggy jeans and slippers, covered in mud and with feral, uncut hair. Usually I can think of nothing better, but when it's dragging on to the 2nd year running since we've been out to dinner together or anything of the sort, it starts to piss me off I have no reason to wear any of the shoes I'm so addicted to buying.

And where did that leave me? Stuck at home alone all weekend with the dogs. A recurring theme to every other weekend when I can't have my own life as I have to baby sit my canine children. Sigh.

I'd really like to snap out of this soon, because the idea of selling all my shoes to fund my growing need for track pants and ugg boots is just not appealing.