Meh of the same

I was hoping to give you a positive update that I now look back on Sunday and Monday and think, 'Wow, where did that come from? I feel AMAZING now! Look at me gambolling through this poppy field and playfully throwing handfuls of blossom at this attractive Boden-wearing stranger.' But in fact, I'm thinking, 'Wow, where did that come from? It couldn't be less logical, yet I am getting more and more sad with each passing hour and I don't understand why. And in the moments where I am not holding back tears, I am UNBELIEVABLY ANGRY at EVERYTHING. In short: a joy to be around.'

Something did make me laugh yesterday though. I had approximately the following conversation with my workmate, Chris.
J: God I'm grumpy. I hate being mental.
C: Yep. It must suck.
J: Maybe I'll die.
C: Don't die, I'll have to take time off for your funeral and I don't have any spare holiday days.
J: You'd definitely get compassionate leave for my funeral if you could pretend to be upset. I don't know how it would work though, because I want to be buried, not cremated, and apparently all the burial grounds in the UK are consecrated land, so basically, you have to have a religious ceremony in order to be buried. Which I don't want.
C: Just get cremated. We could scatter your ashes from the 5th floor.
J: No. I want to decompose slowly. Go back to the earth. Or I guess I could be buried at sea. Once I've donated my organs, you can do what you like with me.
C: [visibly shudders] Oooh no. That's one thing I could never do.
J: What, be buried at sea?
C: No, donate my organs. Yuck.
J: [aghast and pompous] Don't be ridiculous. You can't not donate your organs. That's the most selfish thing I've ever heard.
C: Maybe, but I'm not doing it. It freaks me out.
J: But you could potentially save, like, eight lives. I'm going to secretly register you on the online organ donation register and you won't know about it until you're dead.
C: [looks genuinely scared] Please don't do that.
J: [more pompous] What you need is someone close to you to desperately need an organ - then you'd see how important it is.
C: I have seen that. My cousin. But I'm still not doing it.
J: [Gobsmacked silence]
C: I tell you the other thing that freaks me out. Clock faces.
J: [proper shouty guffaw]
C: I'm serious. I'm OK with little ones but big ones terrify me.
J: What about digital ones?
C: No, it's just the big ones with hands. When I went to Prague, I had to be physically dragged up the clock tower because I was so scared.
J: And you call me mental?
C: You are mental.
J: I'm scared of failure and dying alone. You're scared of clocks and donating your organs AFTER YOU'RE DEAD. I think it is clear who is the weird one here.

He just sent me an email saying the following: "Just hit myself in the face with a phone receiver. As far as uncool ways to get a black eye go, that’s pretty high up there…"

Glad someone is making me laugh. And no, Mum, romance is not blossoming.

In other news, both mine and Chris' combined mentalness is put in the shade by some utter twunt of a priest in Florida, who is 'commemorating' 9/11 by burning 200 copies of the Qur'an. I hope his cassock goes up in flames and then he goes to purgatory and spends the rest of his life being shunned by 72 virgins. What. A. Dick.