Capitulation

And so the Period of Shittiness has squished its tentacles right through the centre of the earth and popped out its suckers in Sydney.

For sure we've all laughed about Charlie Sheen, but when he turns out to be your brother-in-law's secret alter ego, it's not quite so funny. I mean, it's all very well living your life as one glorious, heroic shag-marathon, but not if you've got a wife and family who have followed you to the other side of the world to make a fresh sunshiney, family-focused start.

It's a long way away. Too far. You can't hug someone over Skype. Or punch them for that matter.

And yet the Period of Shittiness cannot remain for ever. It's a new month, and lifes moves inexorably on. February is usually my worst time, but January has aced all previous records so I'm alternately fearful, and hopeful, about February now.  And the flow of days and weeks and months insists that we have a direction of travel.

And so the Period of Shittiness is gradually becoming the Period of Resignation.  Give in to it. Let it take you. It has a sort of comforting grey embrace  -  and it might be the only hug a girl can get.