I lost a good portion of tooth this week on a piece of (so good for you!) Fairtrade dark chocolate. My shower spluttered and gasped its last, in cahoots with the pull-cord of the bathroom light that came away in my hands as I tugged it to switch the brightness off - I was up a ladder at midnight attempting to right that wrong!
And I snarl and bare my newly sharpened teeth.
I realise that this is a symptom of the anxiety that I have been living with - An unwelcome, squatting, free-loading lodger.
I read in an online newspaper this week that more women of around our generation and age are presenting with mental health issues, anxiety and depression, than ever before.
Is it because mental health decline is easier to diagnose than it has ever been before? Is it down to the plethora of pills and potions available for ready money that promise relief, and sometimes sweet oblivion?
Is it because we are the generation that were told could "Have It All?"
I'm not sure... I'd love your opinion on that one?
I turned a different corner last week, by the grace of Goddess Wiki. I found myself laughing at daft things, post-election, as the media induced hysteria rolled on in this island kingdom of ours, and we were supposed to be in desperate straits, given our 'hung' (it sure ought to be!) parliament.
In fact, it's not really a hung parliament, is it?
The 'machinery of government' has continued, with folk such as me working our fingers to the sinewy bone, to ensure the status quo, as far as possible, so that:
...state benefits and pensions are being paid to those in most need;
...no TV blares unlicensed in a stifling room; (some irony there, given the current round the clock TV media circus!)
...transport plans and projects continue, roads are built and repaired;
...the sick are still referred for timely treatment;
...house-fires are fought;
...children are taught;
...criminals are, for the most part, caught, and
...postage stamps are bought...
And I wonder how this life of ours compares with those a century ago, in nearby Cullercoats, where Winslow Homer, whose very name made the fisher-wives chuckle, captured his subjects aloft in the freezing elements, going about their daily toil, gutting the fish brought back from the stormy seas by the village menfolk.
Did they dream of 'having it all'? Did they dream of ageless skin, and sculpted bodies. Did they dwell on a fortnight spent abroad in the sun each year, getting stressed out by the very thought of volcanic ash and cancelled flights? Did they fret about whether their bright children would enjoy and stick to University?
Somehow I doubt it...