Poo,that sounds very worry. I suspect your anxiety is a tiny lickle but hormonal - Google is not, repeat not, you friend 
! - but erm, can I give TG a metaphorical kick in the bollocks? And can I then piss, in a slightly desperate cystitisy way, on his laptop. Happy to oblige! Just say the word!
Twinkle darl, very happy to see your cyber-self. Glad your day is going all right - pliz milk every last ounce of lovingness and sympathy. Do it for the BESH!
Meanwhile, I am sooooooo tired. However, I have spent the last two nights lying awake panicking about the utter foolhardiness of throwing away a professional and potentially lucrative career to pursue an artistic dream, and wasting four years of my youth on a hopeless ambition that will come to naught, and make me a laughing-stock amongst all those who know me and jestingly justify the purchase of expensive frocks on the basis that one day, they will wear it to the Booker ceremony as my guest AAARRRRRGHHHHHH. When all of this goes tits-up, as it inevitably will (and by a cruel jest of nature, during the four-year artistic tomfoolery my tits have gradually gone in precisely not that direction), I will have to move to a croft on the Isle of Mull to hide my shame in a bottle of malt whisky, the songs of Jacques Brel, and the complete Anthony Trollope. Alternatively, I could amend my lifestyle to become a complete trollop, which I suspect would be almost as entertaining, if not rather more so.
Ahem.
So anyway, that explains the tiredness, is essentially the point of the self-indulgent little rant.