There is a place and a time for a wobbly.
I firmly believed that. Though one can hardly plan a wobbly now can they? That is the very nature of a wobbly that it happens at the most inconvenient and unexpected time. Someone once said to me "nothing ever bothers you". Really? You can tell that by just looking at me and reading my tweets? Wow how intuitive it of you. Because you know my tweets are perfectly serene and talk about rainbows and unicorns and happy fairy godmothers bringing me lovely garments and cookies. Lest not forget my Facebook updates full of cheer and wonderment that makes you wonder if happiness threw up on me. Yes you're right genius, nothing EVER bothers me.
I had a wobbly.
Oh hello something bothered me.
I always thought when I had a wobbly it would manifest in the form of a film set in the 1920s, cool and calculated. I pictured Paul Newman, Henry Fonda, Barry Sullivan, you get where I am going with this -- Classic Hollywood. Something worthy of Hitchcock, Nugent or Rosenberg. You know the scenes, the ones where a perfectly sane character clinically snaps. I would get dressed in the morning, looking very well kept, not alluding to any possible "craziness". Then I would walk into some public place, pick up a baseball bat, have a go at someone's head as if it were the norm then I would light a cigarette ( having never smoked) and call my best friend and make plans for dinner. Something cinematic.
My wobbly?
Not so cinematic.
I felt like I was spinning, literally my skin could barley contain me and in one final effort to not lose my cool, I took a sip of vodka and talked politics while I walked furiously to distract from the fact that my world seemed like it could end momentarily. It was not fun.
I still feel like I am losing ground, only now I think I shall tie myself to the chair nailed to a wall.
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