Do you ever have one those days when you know you just shouldn’t get out of bed? Days when facing the world just seems like it is in the bit too hard basket? Days when staying in your PJs and sipping double shot espressos until you are too wired to care seems like the better option? Days when staying in your PJs is the only option because if you did happen to rally around enough enthusiasm to take a shower there is no conceivable way you could decide what else to put on? Days when you like nothing better than putting on all your favourite sad, morbid, dark, tunes because they actually start to put a smile on your face after they first make you cry yourself into a stupor? Days when pulling out a few of the grey hairs that keep on appearing helps while away the time? Days when you let the phone ring out or go to message bank because you just don’t have the energy to speak? Days when you look around to see how much booze is in the house, not because you necessarily want to drink it all, but you get a kind of cold comfort knowing that it is there in case you do? Days when you bring the pillow and throw rug out to the couch and cocoon your self in front of the TV watching bad shows all day (well there is nothing good now Oprah is gone!)? Days when you check the cupboard to make sure there is plenty of chocolate on hand? Days when you bash your head against the wall until you realise the cost of plaster is probably more than the cost of getting your thick head repaired? Days when you just want to scream at the top of your lungs but when you try only a squeak comes out? Days when you walk around the house having conversations with yourself and sometimes it does seem to make some sense – and that doesn’t worry you? Days when you want to make booties out of the neighbour’s cat – sure it is cute, but frankly you just don’t care for cute today? Days when you get a perverse sense of satisfaction about being mopey and miserable? Days when you break into that pile of chocolate that you’ve ferreted away for such emergencies and eat so much that you don’t know whether you should call around a few mates for a fondue and get them to dip there little sticks into you? Days when well, really you should have just stayed in bed all day and all night and waited for tomorrow ‘cause tomorrow is always better than today?