I am going to the Melbourne Cup. I don't want to go to The Melbourne Cup. I want to put it in the too hard basket. It is making me anxious, its not for a few weeks but right now if you walked in here I would launch at you and rip your head off because its flight or fight and I've nowhere to run. At least I would look fetching in my new sun dress as I dropped from the ceiling screaming like a banshee and smashing your head through the floor.
I am going with The Spatula, her work has a tent for the cup and I even have a free ticket for the lovely Gemma if she would like to come but I can't organise it today. I don't know what's wrong with me. It feels like if I go to the Melbourne Cup my foot will get caught in the stirrup and I will be dragged to my screaming death by my snapped and broken leg, my skin being scraped from my body.
I need to be sedated. I need drugs. I need money for drugs. I need drugs. Its time like this I wish I was some kind of junkie. I guess a cup of tea will just have to do. I wish I had a biscuit to go with it.
