How not to sit on a fence.

I got a text last night. I was working late and feeling a bit pressured.
It was from my Glaswegian friend.
She had read my last few blips and told me to buck the fuck up.
Jeez, can't I feel a bit shit, I mean maybe I had fucked up slightly?
No, I fucking hadn't apparently. No way.
No fucking way she said to be even clearer.
'You are Ruby fucking Jones' she texted.
I suspect a cheap Sancerre is behind all this, I thought.
I was right. As she harangued me to remember who I was
(I was getting a bit worried in case I had actually forgotten, but no)
I realised her texts were getting faster and more irrational.
An analogy with cats and mice next.
I tried to mention I was still working, but Madam Boozo was having none of it. But it was good.
She finished with: If you're going to fall the fuck apart,
who the fuck am I going to look up too?

Fuck.
That girl needs to get out more.

I will shut the fuck up about myself now.
Sorry, it's so easy to become self obsessed when you worry.

Enough.