what a difference twelve or so hours makes

i was planning on being really creative today . i was honest i was , i had creatively blogged this morning and creatively skipped upstairs and creatively made a bed cleaned ones creative teeth and did some creative hurling of dirty washing at the machine.

Then it happened THE CURSE OF THE BROWN D.W.P. ENVELOPE.

Bastard horrible bloody thing. i don't normally swear in a blog but for this one i am making a big fuck off exception. I had been expecting this since about last November. From November to December every time anything came through the postbox and landed on the welcome mat i did the tourette's twitch thing and on many occasion almost put my neck out. But they had done a sneaky thing and lulled me into a false sense of security until today.
Today i get the envelope that heralds the end of life as i know it. The end of any sense of safety . My appeal tribunal date . Even as i type this my stomach is turning and i want to cry . I won't it's just a blog. It's not as if i'm about to be made homeless well not yet anyway i have a month till this thing. I have a month the work out where the hell they want me to go , how the hell i get there if there are any high ceilings, how likely i am to get lost miss my time and then be stranded while a bunch of no mark bastard strangers decide my fate have a laugh a cup of tea talk about the soaps as i crumble at the road side.
Am i feeling sorry for myself ? nope i am a realist and realistically i have no idea how i am going to get there what i am going to say or if they will even believe me . I have no support no backup from anyone so i am pretty much screwed . If leaves you wondering sometimes if it is all really worth this. On the outside i look fine bit tired round the edges needs a hair cut could loose a few hundred pounds, but if you can string a sentence together then obviously your fine. If you don't seem to need anyone to fight your corner then your obviously cured. erm no , but i guess if im not dangling off the top floor of tesco's car park then all is not quite lost.
I'm going to publish this wait for the backlash from the truly ill which will probably begin in Ernest . Poor Ernest things always begin in him . And i'm going to go and have a fag.

I will be fine .
This coming from the person who on her head stone will have in-scripted " Was always fine till she wasn't . Then she was fucked."

Sorry will now stop rambling and bugger off .
It's been a shit day .
and thus the pants have spoken.