Elb on the edge.......

I am obviously not as young as I like to think I am.

I do - in addition to my 40 hour week at my regular job - a Saturday stint in a shop, which I normally enjoy, although it’s hard graft for a sedentary lard-ass such as myself. Last week however, I foolishly offer to help out at the shop filling shelves in the evening because they are short-staffed in the middle of a half-price sale, and haven’t time or energy to replenish stocks. This results in two 12 hour days on Thursday and Friday, then an absolutely horrendous shift on Saturday, when the entire town comes to ransack the shop and spends hours complaining at the service.....

At the end of Saturday, I resemble an extra from Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” video, only with much less dancing. Exhausted way beyond the boundaries of tiredness, I stagger under the shower and don my jammies at 6.30 pm, swig yet another can of Red Bull - which gives me burps instead of wings - and plonk myself down for a quiet evening online. At least, that’s the plan. However, I fail spectacularly to keep up with my cyberchums’ customary banter, and I finally admit defeat, sing “So long, farewell, Auf Weidersehn, goodbyee...!” and hit the hay. Hit being the operative word here...... I don’t merely FALL asleep, but take the mother of all high-dives into oblivion, executing a triple pike and twist along the way, and am unconscious WAY before my head even comes remotely near my pillow.

Four days later, I have still not recovered, and find to my dismay that I am halfway through the week and still auditioning for “Shaun of the Dead 2”...... Not only am I permanently knackered, but I have developed an irritating tic in my eye which was bad enough when it was just the one - now the other one has joined in, but at a different speed, so I am twitching and squinting like Herbert Lom as Inspector Clouseau’s demented boss! I nearly dislocate my jaw at regular intervals, yawning so widely that local potholers are preparing to explore the depths.........

Not only do I appear to have burned the candle at both ends, but the middle’s melted too. I will have to accept - albeit ungraciously - that I am not a teenager any more, despite what my inner stroppy self tells me. Perhaps it is time to retire from the Saturday job, and take up something less strenuous like crochet......

*YAWN......*