I just wrote an enormously long post, not because I wanted to, but because I made a commitment to write again today, and I hate being let down, and because even though I don't believe in the resurrection of Christ, I still think Jesus was pretty spot on with his Golden Rule.
But then I read back through what I'd written, and although it makes perfect sense to me, I think most of you would have finished it and thought, 'Poor Jane,' and from my perspective, that sounds about as much fun as anal sex with a leopard. We all have existential angst - well, anyone with an ounce of intelligence and an ounce of humility - and although I could vomit up several thousand words about mine faster than you can make a sandwich, I don't think the act of sending those words into the public domain will help me resolve my questions any faster. It could, I suppose, help some of you who are going through similar battles. But the vast majority of you would read it, feel briefly enlightened as to what's bubbling away underneath my dyed blonde locks, and then you'd pity me, because I spend so much time thinking about all this stuff while you're coordinating bathtime and freezing pureed fruit and changing the world in your nine to five. And that would really annoy me, because I still like being me even if it does seem to suck in my head a lot of the time, and your pity would just make me go off you, and no one wants that, do they?
So I'm keeping my existential angst to myself for now, at least until I can find an hilarious way to recount it. And since I didn't see anything at the theatre last night, and no one accidentally inhaled the lid of their biro on the tube home, and I didn't set my sofa on fire or mistakenly purchase a mail-order husband from North Korea, I don't think I need to write any more right now. I'll be back as soon as I can find some real news.