The art of conversation

I fear I'm losing it.

Last night, whilst slumped in front of a double-bill of Heroes followed by Desperate Housewives, I realised that I bibble to the boys all day and then in the evening, sit mindlessly in front of the TV, too tired to speak. Eddie is much the same after fighting off a million political backstabbers and then coming home and slumping next to his comatose wife.

After a really long day, the only activity you can cope with is one which requires zero effort on any front. But I'm finding that the downside of it is that whenever I come into contact with another adult, I witter appallingly, and then come home and worry that I really am turning into a desperate housewife.

Fortunately there is a possible solution to the gradual disintegration of my adult brain cells. I've just started doing a tiny bit of freelance PR work. It's terrifying having to ring the FT after 8 years out of the game, but I also secured a briefing for later today with the CEO of the company which was a real boost to my confidence. Let's hope it goes OK and this could be the start of a new chapter in my life.

In the meantime I'd better go and clean the bathrooms (to be a real DH, I may have to put on a pair of heels...)

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