It Doth Soothe the Stressed Beast
Every year during deadline season, the stress seems to manifest itself slightly differently. There’s been the insomnia; the strange sensation as if someone was gripping my stomach (the organ, not the bodily region) and periodically digging nails in; the pinched shoulder nerves; the tooth grinding. Forgetting to eat until I’m nearly falling over is a repeat visitor, as are vivid dreams and nightmares.
This year, apparently, it’s music: I find myself singing. Out loud. Songs I made up. Rather badly.
There was “We Are So Screwed,” sung to the tune of the theme song from “My Three Sons.” For variety, a very similar song to the tune of “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad.” And, of course, various obscenity-filled songs telling uncooperative and/or dictatorial authors to get over themselves and do anatomically unlikely things. Usually, I don’t realize I’m doing it until my voice has gotten loud enough for people standing in the hallway outside my door to hear me.
Apparently it’s carrying over into my free hours, as well. I realized after dinner that, sometime between about 9:00 last night and then, my cable needle had gone missing. It’s the small one, the only one that goes with my size 8 needles, and I cannot find the thing at all, even after spending quite a fair bit of time tearing through the nightstand drawer (in case it had fallen in) and the floor all around the futon. Obviously, Nigel has stolen the needle and is hiding it, filled with secret glee that I cannot make further progress on my cabled scarf:
It was only when I had given up that I realized I’d been singing “Where the Fuck Did the Cable Needle Go” to the tune of “Camptown Races.” Complete with “doo-dah”s. Evidently, I need help.
Instead of knitting tonight, I suppose I’ll just have to make do with watching the extras on my “Little Britain Live” DVD (from my kind and generous parents, who also provided me with “Little Britain Abroad” and the first series of “The Catherine Tate Show” [Am I bovvered? Apparently, yes.]).
