"If you see me fuss and fret, please don't take it as a bet..."

Mrs Grandad taught The Grandad a good way of not letting stuff get to him.

He just has to stop and think "Will I be bothered about it in 20 years?" If the answers "No" then he has no right to get pissed off about it, and so he moves on with his day.

He tells me it works.

Unfortunately, yours truly has no such coping mechanism. Nope, madame here gets anger bubbles in her tummy which work their way up to her eyeballs and spill out in hot salty streaks.

S'not pretty.

S'not cool.

And I FUCKING HATE IT!

The issue I have is that it looks like I'm crying and sad about whats happened, when nine times out of ten it's because I'm angry. I don't actually cry when I'm sad, I just mope. When someone gets to me though, the friggin' flood gates open.

Then it gets worse 'cos such events tend to happen around groups of people normally people I want to impress or that I don't want to see this side of me (see year 9 history lesson, year 11 biology nervous breakdown and today's drama lessson.) This then means that I get worse 'cos I get angry at myself. Cue more waterworks followed by a bit of sobbing. Then the embarrassment sets in so the moon face goes more mars-like in colour and more often than not mascara streaks its way down making me look like a 2 year olds attempt at drawing a tiger.

In short its not pretty.

So today's lesson, when I walked out, trust me, I spared The Cast from one of the most hideous things they could possibly see.

Walking out was the only coping mechanism I could come up with at that moment.

'Cos unfortunately, I can't dance it out like Billy Elliot or The Cast of Cry Baby (how feckin' appropriate!)

It also explains why I didn't want to speak to The Twat afterwards, cos I would have been a sobbing mess again.

And I might also have used the C word, as I ever so nearly did before the incident.

(Spot on Lothario "It was probably worse than "idiot"")

So fingers crossed it won't happen again.

And the Cast's final week won't be ruined by a wailing git.

Ooof, maybe he'll send me off to a counsellor 'cos I have "emotional problems?

Or maybe I'll just hire Mrs Grandad to sort me out! :D