Lost looking for meaning

I think it's probably completely normal to be a bit up and down. In fact, I know it is. But things do feel rather out of control at the moment. Which is zero fun. What was particularly perturbing was seeing several photos of me, taken at close range by a girl sitting directly on my left at a party last Friday night, where I appear to have no discernable jawline. My face is straight from my cheek to my neck, giving me the appearance of a few standard facial features (eyes, nose, mouth etc.) stuck on one massive jowl. A pasty Ms Potatohead, if you will. Then again, things could be worse: at least I don't have to worry about the economy. I was reading a gripping article this morning about the massive figures that are being bandied around, and found out that while a million seconds is the equivalent of 11.5 days, a trillion seconds would take us back 31,709 years to the time of the hunter-gatherers. I had no idea. I mean, why would I? But still. Puts things in perspective a bit.

Talking of ridiculous figures, I was struck by this application form for the East India Club on St. James' Square, which instructs the candidate to agree that, should the Club close while he is a member, he will "contribute to the assets of the Company... a sum not exceeding 12 and a half pence." Quite extraordinary. Rest assured that, even if the club would accept women as members, I am not currently considering applying. Should this change I will alert you.

What else can I tell you? My lip is still numb but sometimes it tingles. I am taking this as a good sign. My chin is still dead to me. Weep. I love my new hairbrush. St Tropez everyday bronzing moisturiser might be quite good. If the woman who sits near my office door cackles like that again I will throw my stapler at her head. The previous sentence constitutes an official written warning and any violent acts I carry out on her from this point on should be considered legally justified. I turned my heating off prematurely last week: it's back on now. The book club book is brilliant and exceptionally humbling. I would have lain down and died on day one. I'm now on the second section, which concerns logotherapy, and have been underlining frantically on the tube. I have discovered that I live firmly within an existentialist vacuum. Which is not good. Not sure how to clamber out. Does one climb out of a vacuum? Or merely pass through? God I'm tired. Hopefully I'll turn a couple more pages and nice Dr. Frankl will reveal my personalised way to meaning, although I don't think that's quite how it works. Sigh. I'm off to the gym shortly. I ran on Monday to the new Prodigy album and I think that the feisty BPM must have made me up my pace as I cut about four minutes off my normal time. Songs aren't much cop in the most part, sadly. I tell you who is good, though, and that's Pete(r) Doherty - his new solo album is great. And I heard the most heartbreaking song from Paul Weller's new album when I was in a shop in Spitalfields yesterday. Must remember to try and find that on iTunes.

Right, that's enough rambling for one Wednesday. I'm off to see babies this evening so must conserve my energy. Laters.