In 24 hours time, we'll be nearly stepping down at the bower. I've not been feeling tense all well.

All of a sudden I'm shitting a brick.

Doesn't help that my twitch reflex, normally the province of a mongoose on methamphetamines, is buggered. The fucking pseudodogs keep getting me, and I'm all out of vodka when I do dodge them so I still kark it. STALKER aside, nothing's caught my imagination so I'm still wound nice and tight. Grrr.