Journal

Meaningless.

I would like to sit here and moan about all the crap I have to do, the fact that hubby may not be taken on as a permanent employee at work and we could soon be immersed back into poverty, that I have to make a formal complaint about my evil dentist, and a load of other junk.
But from where I sit now, it all seems meaningless.
I try to look back and see how we've always got through stuff before, and it's not like one of us is terminally ill or anything.
It's all just little problems, but they build up so much, and even the fact I have to get a new exhaust for the car ( I hate garages, they are always so awkward and scary) and get the bus to work today (never done that before, buses are weird!) seems to be bugging me.
I must stop letting myself fret the small things.

I was drying myself last night after a shower and realised there must have been a large spider in the towel as I ended up covered in spider bits.
As alarming as that was, HE'S got something to complain about, not me.