I'm Running Out of Time To Procrastinate

I have this horrendous love/hate battle with Time (a.k.a thyme, depending on whom I am speaking to). I LOVE time, but it HATES me. Time is not my friend, but I am Time's clinger-onerer. Sometimes I get rebellious and indignant and decide to show Time I don't NEED it, I can survive without it, and I'm going to WASTE Time to prove it.
That's when this kind of stuff happens.

You might be wondering what exactly is happening here. Well, I invented a new kind of tooth-floss technique. I called it The Weave. It takes three times as long as normal flossing and is half as effective. The look on my face you see there is not pain, not anger, but Determination. It takes a lot of it to achieve the length of the Weave I eventually did.
Sometimes it's hard being this awesome.

Just An Everyday Encounter of the Fail Kind

So, I seem to be developing this habit of throwing things. That would be just swell were I shotput champion, or even a potter, or a combination of both (a shotpotter!?!?). However, when everyday items I am holding in my hands are getting biffed about quite rudely without any notice to myself OR the items, it becomes Troublesome. 

Yesterday, I was walking (as in, Walking for Exercise not to get from A to B... INORITE, I WAS PROUD TOO) and my shoe started to rub my heel threateningly. I really did NOT want a blister on top of my other blister so I took the shoe off to investigate, and promptly threw it in the ditch. "What. Why. Thefuck. Whatisthis. LAME." were all sentiments that were oozing about in my brain (I had not yet reached the punctuation mark level of alertness for my thoughts to do anything other than ooze).The ditch was NOT small, it was NOT shallow, and it was NOT dry. To top it off, I was wearing my favourite socks, which say "Hot Spots" on them and have multicoloured spottydotties which make me feel zesty. I really really did NOT want to walk on a sock into the ditch, because that is NOT a zesty thing for one to do while one is wearing one's zesty socks. Of course that meant I had to hop in my hot spots socks into the stupid ditch to get my stupid shoe which was STUPID.

But that's not the point. The point is what I did TODAY. It is my belief that a person's choice of lifestyle and habits of living should be of no consequence to other people, unless there is harm being done. Well, I think I need help now. Intervention, or summat. I hurt somebody very, very badly today.

I am sorry Mr. Pepper.

It was an innocent enough start to the morning. I wanted pepper on my tomato. I got it. But Mr Pepper got decapitated.
Other people call them The Ghosts, I (imaginatively) call them Mrs Salt and Mr Pepper. They spend their entire lives either cuddling, or reaching out for a cuddle. They are like the yin and yang of salt and pepper shakers. They were literally made for each other. They ARE meant to be together- cos they're a set!! This is how they are SUPPOSED to look:

This is how they NOW look after domestic violence ripped them apart:

See the expression on Mrs Salt's face?? Total shock. That's what I did to her. You would look like that too if you went to hug your husband and his head and left arm were Missing Presumed Shattered.
I don't know how it happened. One minute Mr Pepper was fulfilling his purpose in life, the next minute I was throwing him on the floor in some kind of fit and parts of his head I am still finding.

I can't bear to look at her face. It's so accusing and ghastly. She will be reaching out for him forever, and he will never give her another hug again. 

God, I look after CHILDREN!!