Dear Alanis...

... If you think finding a black fly in your Chardonnay is ironic...


... try suffering from Anorexia Nervosa, an illness which is, ultimately, all about having 'control', and waking up to find that the future of your teaching career, your chances of going back to your job, rely solely on the words of two men who barely know you.


Now THAT'S ironic.


(I never got the black fly thing anyway)

Alanis Eat Yer Heart Out

"Isn't it ironic"...

...Alanis appears to state rather than question, which is probably just as well given that her definition of 'irony' sometimes (some lines) seems to be a little dubious (at best).

Semantic inaccuracies aside, she has an incredible voice (and tons of attitude) but the reason why I quote h

er right now, is

that I hear that line playing in my mind as I contemplate posting that today, the mind - cloaking darkness that has more or less disabled me since Saturday, was shot through with a narrow laser beam somewhere high above me.

And I've been like a drowning body who, in the last swelling, slipping moments, finds an air hole in the thick ceiling of ice above.

I haven't even been to work.

Can you imagine? Because I can't.

Today I walked around Ikea buying plates and bowls and other pointless porcelain vessels.

I want to move to my own place.

And all the time the Alanis song was playing.

My ray of light beamed from the numbers on the scales.

Isn't it ironic.

The lower I go, the higher I get.

And, I'm walking around Ikea investing in a future that I am doing my damnedest to end before it has the chance to begin.

Now, Alanis?

THAT'S irony