I'm not writing this to depress anyone or make myself feel even worse but I'm a complete wreck at the moment. With everything thats going on with Annie (2 months and still no actual prognosis! The temptation is to go into a rant about the sheer unprofessionalism of it all but I shall resistant. Bottom line is we know she's dying but have no form of time frame to try and work our emotions into) I thought I was doing ok but the last few weeks I've been a complete nightmare.

I've been focussing a lot on other people but suddenly the little things are pushing there way through. It all started one day in the car with Jazz. There I was thinking when a song with no significance whatsoever came on the radio. From nowhere it was like someone punched me really hard in the stomach, I could barely breath and tears just started streaming down my face uncontrollably. Jazz noticed this and pulled over but I figured it was one off so gave myself this moment where I seemed to have lost all grasp of self-control. Fortunately it was over in about 30 seconds and I was left feeling like a pratt.

Now I thought that was it but it's happening all the time. All I need to kick it off is the wrong song, wrong film (my god, Eastenders even), a particularly difficult day at work etc etc etc. Luckily though until yesterday Jazz has been the only one to witness this and I presume he's getting sick to death of saying 'it'll be OK'.

Like it wasn't bad enough I ran into DJ yesterday. I've become very good at avoiding him/the horribly awkward scenario. Since we got home from our honeymoon he's been everywhere and if not him a guy that looks spookily similar. Yesterday though my 'fool-proof' plan backfired. There I was walking by WH Smith when I saw him coming right at me. Pretending I didn't see him I attempted to dive into the shop only to realise that it's actually shut at 9pm - it was the perfect excuse for him to laugh his ass off and strike up conversation.

It went a bit like this on his end: 'You're not getting in there' 'So you married him then?' 'How's Annie doing?'. It was the last question that set me off. Out came the punch in the stomach and tears were just shooting out my eyes in such overly-fashion - I was so so glad it wasn't someone else as it was humiliating enough. It's bad enough crying in public but it's definitely not ideal in the middle of the town centre with your ex-boyfriend.

Almost like fate was intervening somewhere along the way he had to take me to his house to get my head together because this time I actually couldn't stop. We talked for hours and I suppose we've reignited our FRIENDSHIP. And as for my emotions which seem to enjoy humiliating me at every turn, I'm hoping that that was the grand finale for now!

I came home from another horrible day at work last night. It was late, I hadn't eaten and I was tired.

Jazz did the sweetest thing though. On my return he's covered the bedroom in candles and vowed to massage my troubles away. Now we all know that when man offers you a massage it's not entirely selfless - more often than not it's foreplay and nothing else which is usually fine by me. I was fine with it last night too. I haven't been spending much time with him due to work so I was sure I could muster the energy to have an hour of romance and passion.

He really went to town though. This massage went on for a good half hour (I think) and I'm getting into when all of a sudden he coughs loudly and I open my eyes to find him lying in bed beside me with eyebrows raised to the ceiling. Oops, yes, that's right I fell asleep and by the sounds of it for a hell of a long time. While he was pulling out all his 'moves' and trying to take things up a gear I was sound asleep. I feel so guilty!!!

I came back into the office for the first time today only to discover that a folder I 100% rely to do most of my job has disappeared, my partner in crime at work has apparently been looking for it for 2 weeks and yet suspiciously seems to have got nowhere and now he's just broken it to me that he's not actually covered me where I desperately needed him to! Oh and to top it all off they gleefully handed me over another project upon my return.

The result? I've spent 8 hours on this ruddy computer with no progress made whatsoever and a colleague who thinks he can make it all up to me not by helping me look for the folder but by taking me out for a drink after work. I think my stress levels have hit seriously new heights. Hmmm....a whole lovely week ahead.

In the famous words of Garfield - I hate Mondays!

Oh no! At first I thought this was the curse of marriage but I fear I may have been like this for a while now.

I'm not a particularly tidy person, in fact the days I work from home Jazz says I leave a trail which he could easily use to figure out the frame of my day (mainly coffee cups and shoes). On the same note I don't tend to be that uptight. I'm quite happy to let people do what they want to do until it hits the point of sheer disrespect.

Just yesterday I spent the whole day trying to have a huge spring clean as apparently receiving a ton of wedding presents isn't all fun and games. By the time Jazz got home I was shattered and cooking dinner, only for me to turn round and notice a trail of destruction through everything I'd done. And so the nagging begins:

'Could you clear your stuff off the table?'
'No, please don't put the clean tea towel on the floor'
'There's a pile of stuff on the bed, can you please put it away and not just dump it on the floor?'
'Look, if you're going to clear the table after dinner could you at least put the leftovers in the bin?!'

I sound like a nightmare right?! To be fair I'm rarely like this and when I am I know I'm doing it and am desperately trying to get myself to stop. It seems to come out most when our generally equal household responsibilities start to slide. In retrospect, and as has been pointed out by Jazz, it tends to be my fault when I end up doing all the work. I work from home 50% of the time so I'll often offer to do the dinner dishes since I'm at home the next day, give the kitchen/bathroom a good clean, take the bottles to the bottle bank, do the shopping, cook dinner..... Before I know it I've put everything on my own shoulders which is quickly followed by resentment. It's a big horrible vicious circle which raises it's ugly head roughly every few weeks.

Hmmm isn't it funny how you spend half your life trying not to be like your mum and the other half actually being like her?!

So after the whole insanity of my wedding day (I wouldn't put myself through all of that again for all the money, love, health in the world) I had a wonderful and relaxing honeymoon only to come home and find my mum has put a shrine to me and the wedding day in the centre of her living room.

Yes, yes the sentiment is lovely - it really is but being a phobic to getting my picture taken, the last thing I needed was to be presented with a wall of 8 pictures all featuring me.

Usually the problem is getting me to 'pose' for a picture in the first place. I generally manage to turn it around so someone else is blinded by the flash but on the rare occasion I don't I'm confronted with a picture of me looking bloody terrified. Anyone unlucky enough to see these would be forgiven for thinking there's someone pointing a gun at me just outside the frame. The odd time I embrace the situation and strike some bizarre pose (our honeymoon snaps are full of me 'riding a horse' in true Monty Python & The Holy Grail style - it was all in relation to the location or so I tell myself) it is because I'm engulfed in excitement, although that soon disappears when a certain someone decides to do a slideshow on our tv for every man and his dog.

Taking all this into account I'm sure you can see what a pain-staking task it was for me to pose for wedding photos for 2 and a half hours. Minus the few where I look drunk (which I really wasn't at that time in the day) they actually seemed really good and I felt I could face any camera. Now, however, I'm beginning to scrutinise and this is where it all goes wrong. Suddenly I'm asking 'do I always look like that?', 'I didn't realise I looked so weird side on', 'my arms look really big in that one'. My phobia is back and I think I'll put my wedding photos away for a a few days before I collapse into a world of low self esteem. Why do we do it to ourselves?!

Before anyone panics I'm not up to my old antics. I see a crush as perfectly innocent - an anchievable object if you will and something you have no control over. Which I suppose is lucky for me considering I'm getting married in the small space of 2 days.

I'm sure everyone has had that crush at high school. I sure as hell did and I thought it would be my only one. My crush was in the year above and the singer in a band. He had a beautiful voice, changed his hair colour every month and was soulfully depressed. His teenage angst came out in the fantastic songs he wrote and my heart just exploded when he sang without musical back-up at a gig one night before falling to his knees with dramatic effect. Despite all of this he wasn't the coolest guy in school he was in fact the under dog. The one who half the school made fun of only to be ever so coolly ignored, while the other half of the school idiolised him.

Despite knowing all his friends, bandmates and girlfriends I think I spoke to him twice. Once when I was prank calling my friend and he answered - oh to be 15 again. The other time was in a mini bus on the way home from a gig. I was so chuffed that we got to travel with the band not to mention I was sitting just behind him. The bus broke down and he turned to me and cracked some sarcastic joke about it which I responded to with a brief high-pitched lauch, a cough to steady myself and a mumbled, 'yeah'.

I got over him quite easily and to be fair if Jazz fitted in to his description I doubt we'd be together. Also I have the steady knowledge that I could probably speak to him now....well, maybe.

This was all fine and well but I never expected in my whole life for a crush to hit me square between the eyes again at 22 - just days before marriage. Nor did I expect to make such a pratt of myself.

I had to call up the electrician at work a few days ago because I couldn't work my new phone. Technically minded to the end! There I was involved in a deep conversation with a colleague I know really well when in he walked. Now, wow! He's not my type and he's not overtly special but those eyes, that smile. My grandpa always says that my gran has eyes like a 'cow looking over a dyke' and to be honest I can't think of a much better way to describe my crush's eyes.

This is where I started to look stupid because I literally stopped talking and couldn't even get the words out when he said he was there to fix my phone. My colleague left, clearly thinking I'm crazy while I spent the whole half hour he was in my office bumbling through conversations and blushing fiercely. He kept laughing at me too. I'm not sure if that's because he found me sweet or just stupid. When he left he called to see if it worked and I automitically said, 'Yes, you're a star' to which he laughed again. Oops!

So you can imagine then what it was like when I popped into work briefly yesterday to see him fixing a light. Another blushing and bumbling session. Oh the humanity! I suppose I should feel lucky I was snapped up when I was. Otherwise I get the impression I could be on the shelf for a lot of years yet.

Anyway off to get married and do the whole honeymooning thing so I may disappear for a while.

With less than a week to go to the wedding I went out on a mission to buy honeymoon appropriate underwear.

Now I love good underwear and to get through life you have to buy a lot of it so I don't think I've ever got embarassed. However, today I'm standing in La Senza with something particularly sexy and hand it over to the woman on the till for her to ask, "Is it for you?"

Straight away I started thinking 'shit, what's wrong with it. Doesn't she think it'll fit? Is it not right for me?' (in my defence they regularly give you their vague opinion in Ann Summers & Knickerbox) Talk about paranoia! So as I mumbled a reply and realised that she obviously asked in case it was a gift I started to choke to death on my Skittle. With a cue of people behind me I had the woman running around the shop, still carrying my 'lingerie', to get me a glass of water. By the time I'd finally pulled it together and recovered from the embarassment of not being able to remember my pin number I realised the whole shop had seen my underwear (on the till screen as well - what's that all about?!) for that 'special night'.

Again, I don't usually worry about people seeing me in my underwear, in fact I dance around in it most of the time. But surely certain pieces should only be seen by sexual partners and, erm, I think that's about it! I'm sure I never used to be this much of a prude.