A soundbite into my mind via a true story from today (15/10/18)…

The other day I bought myself a loaf of bread. Standard. At the self service checkout I noticed a slight tear (about 2cm long) in the plastic wrap of the bread which naturally put me off a little. I mean a tear equals air exposure which will enviably result in my bread going stale quicker. But then I’d already scanned the product and didn’t fancy hassling Mr “I hate my life as a self service check out assistant, I dare you to ask me for assistance” so I purchased said loaf regardless.

Today I went to the cupboard to make some toast (FYI I now have jam on my toast as well as butter, because since moving to London I live life on the edge) and I spent a good two minutes trying to find the tear in the wrap for reasons that’ll never be fully understood. Couldn’t find it so came to the very rational and balanced conclusion that my life is The Truman Show and/or the Matrix and I’m quite possibly a female version of Keanu Reeves and Jim Carrey (although not at the same time, that would be weird). This resulted in a very normal reaction…I panicked.

Anyway, after worrying that my life was completely staged I suddenly discovered the original rip in the packaging and gave a small sigh of relief. On reflection my I worry a) why I was contemplating my existence over a rip in the packaging of some averagely priced bread from Tesco’s and b) why my pulse rate dropped when I found it.

And the worst bit? As I put my bread in the toaster I actually felt disappointed that my life wasn’t staged and thereby frustrated that found the rip. Honestly.

Welcome ladies and gentlemen to every minute of every blinking day in my mind.