Yeep.

Shitting myself. I just got a date for the defence - a date I want - and now panicking AGAIN, fuck. On top of that, I can feel a nasty depressive paralysis creeping up on me, and this is not a good time for it. In part because of the defense preparations, in part because of the new job which starts as soon as I finish my latté and walk to work, in part because depressive paralysis leads to impulse shopping and I’m trying to save for Europe, and in part because depressive paralysis bites.

But sometimes people seem so scared by the world – much older people, who I’d prefer to think have things much better figured out than I do. So when I see them scared, it unsettles me. I want to think some day life will be an un-intimidating piece of piss. But the natural follow-up to that is that I’m full of shit, because if life was an un-intimidating piece of piss I might not be so interested in it. Fuck. I hate when I think myself on to hamster wheels. And I’m going to Gotterdammerung, so I’m missing analysis, so Mr. B can’t help me analyze my way off it. Is it possible I’ve become dependent on analysis so fast? That in itself could be depressing. But if one’s in the mood to be dependant, it’s either dependent on that or dependent on something else, I suppose. Anyways, opera usually cheers me up. Don’t know about five and a half hours of German opera, though. On verra.

Maybe this mood is just some early roaring from the Red Dragon. I did have an uncontrollable jones on yesterday for a Cadbury Cream Egg, and did make little orgasmic noises while I ate it which made my office-mates promptly go out and buy their own.

L’hiver me fait chier. When I took my little sick-girl constitutional Monday I wore my spring jacket – not foolhardiness – I would have been miserably overheated in my winter coat. Maybe it was the contrast that made me realize my winter coat makes me look like a Spanish galleon in full mourning sail. Especially when I wear a skirt. I do not have bandy legs – I have fucking awesome legs – but that bloody coat makes them look like two straws stuck into a volcanic boulder. Gawwwd, I’m pissed off today. And listing all the wonderful things in my life, of which there is a seemingly ever-growing list, isn’t helping. I wish I knew what I needed. I have a clear idea of so many things I need and can work for and fight for, but there’s something else I can’t put my finger on, and it’s that fucking inability to put my finger on it that gets me into this stupid box.

Hee hee hee . . . box.

UPDATE

Statcounter tells me I have a reader in Finland who has come back to the page several times by searching the keywords Elisa di Rivombroso in Suomi Google.

Gentle Finn:

The first series ended with Elisa dressing as King Emmanuele's murdered cousin so she could intercede with him on the very scaffold by showing him the list of traitors before the Duke was executed. The naughty man whose name escapes me was busted by both the list and the fact that, as he had had the King's cousin killed, he expressed horror and shock when she was 'ressurrected' in Elisa. The King was happy, the Duke was happy, Elisa was happy, the Duke and Elisa got married, the naughty man got his just deserts, and that redhead aristocrat whose booty you could see in a few episodes fled before all this went down, mortified at her inability to save the man she loved - for he scorned her! Oh, and I think Elisa was pregnant, which is cool, because they were all thinking she couldn't conceive again after getting pushed down the stairs, right? Oh again, and the doctor hooked up with the Duke's sister after her husband died of whatever VD he had, and . . . uhm . . . you know that little guy Elisa was going to marry when she was trying to forget the Duke - it turned out he was nice. That's everybody, right? I think the Duke's bastard son was re-united with the happy couple at the end. Anyways, he wasn't dead.

There is a sequel in the works, my cousin Giuseppe informs me. All I can tell you, because it's all I know, is that the grapevine is saying the Duke gets killed off pretty fast. So I hope you were tuning in for the naked ladies, not the naked Duke. There. I hope you can stop Googling that show now.

I, by the way, was tuning in to help with my conversational Italian. And the naked Duke. Shut up, you.