h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

I have shingles. Interesting. Apparently it's a form of chicken pox that is brought on by stress. So therefore I am stressed, or have been stressed about something enough to make me feel like insects are trying to eat me from within for about a week. What irritates me the most is that I now feel like one of those people who live with their significant other (can't get married, too much of a commitment) in a large flat in London, and who work in P.R, who become incredibly neurotic at the age of 30 because it's a round number, and maybe round numbers mean that they're fat or something. Anyway they get stressed, and start squeezing little rubber balls with mission statements on them. At least, I feel like I've been bracketed in with them for being stressed and middle class at the same time.
All I've got to worry about is a huge back catologue of being either a bit or a complete arsehole (no middle ground involved here). And I was in a play in which I was the only person who knew their lines and so was the only person worried about forgetting them because no-one else could forget them. And girls generally are nerve-wracking. The play is over, worrying about women is nothing new, so perhaps it was a case of being over-critical.
Fortunately I solved this last night with the help of Mr Bob Dylan.
A little self-justification never hurt anyone. Listen to 'Blowin' in the Wind' and just think to yourself 'I've been walking down the wrong roads, I'm now on the right road, even if I am stuck in a traffic jam the size of Kazakhstan.' Well, it worked for me. That's what I like about the past tense in the phrase 'I was an arsehole'.


I'm more of a git now.