ANNABEL IS NOT GIVING UP:

Coffee. I just need all of the awake with none of the heart attack. The midway between corpse and fiend.

Putting off the dentist. I’m too poor and too scared and that’s not changing any time soon. The hygienist’s polishing tools, I can handle. The dentist’s drills, I cannot. #toothlesscrone

Obsessing. About the linen on my bed. Tidy bed, tidy mind. Kinda.

Heels. They make me walk very slowly, give me blisters and shorten my temper. But if I give up on heels, I’ll be giving up on pizzazz. And when your spirit animal is Miss Piggy, that is not possible.

Exercising on injury. The Achilles situation is not pretty. It’s limpy. Ouchy. But if I want to eat I need to jump around.

Impatience. It makes me extremely effective. Rousing. Some even mistake it for dynamism. Not many. But some.

Road rage. I’m not attacking anyone with lead piping. I’m exercising my right to swear effusively. With the window up.

Hope that I’ll sleep for eight hours. What is life without hope? Ahahahaha.

Bagging the front seat. Sorry, but I don’t like sitting in the back of the car. It makes me sick and claustrophobic.

Anxiety. It means I’m highly attuned to the bat squeaks of people’s moods. And I never run out of loo paper or Lenor.

Not going to the cinema. I may miss out on cultural happenings, but I also miss out on a situation where I always need to pee in the middle and where the loos are soundproofed and murdery.