Same Shit, Different Day

You know life has become desperately mundane when you have to wait for something of at least slight abstract occurance to well, occur just so you feel like you have the right to blog about it, like you finally have the ability to document any thoughts/feelings/happenings of that day that extend far beyond the self-consumption of your new found love for museli or that you really hate queuing at the super market.

My extraordinary incident was in entering the Doctor's surgery for my prescription. Waiting was a woman and her child (the child being the obvious patient due to the self-sympathetic look of woe on their face), an old man quite bizarrely looking at the contraception section and an old woman sat on a chair in the center of the room with the face of a slapped ass if I ever saw one. Anyway, anecdote continuing, I walked up to the counter and waited for the desk clerk to come from the back of the shop, she approached me first to ask for my name, upon which the old woman rose and immediately blew her load over the fact that she was first. I turned around and said I didn't realise she hadn't already been seen to. She replied with some holier than thou bullshit about it being 'obvious she was waiting', and that it was right for her to be seen to first. The woman behind the counter was just as suprised at I was, and was probably thinking that had she not been sat on her decrepit derriere about 7 feet from the desk I probably would have known she was waiting. What pissed me off was her self-righteous look of victory upon putting a deliquent minor in their place. I'm pretty sure that even old people hate old people nowadays, they're that pent on getting one up on the World and everyone in it.

My 'suicide before sixty' pledge has never looked so promising. Rant over: I really do have a new found love for museli.

World at War

Another Light Dragoon died in Afghanistan today fighting a pointless war. We're trying to keep something under control that has no expiration date or limit. I'm tired of hearing bullshit stories of making bullets out of pig fat to make being a martyr pointless or that this whole war is over oil. I guess I'm just tired of living in a World and contributing to a World I have no control over. If i analyse myself in 15 years and find I'm a house wife with about as much opinion on World matters as a slice of bread then I'm going to blow myself up.

Stand back whilst my fucking head detonates. I want and I need and I feel but it all amounts to nothing. I'm lost in what I want to be doing and what I should be doing and what I wish would happen. All I can do is talk to myself and listen to the saddest songs. I'm letting temporary dementia cloud my reasoning. I wish I could call it summer euphoria but all it does is rain.

Correlation Cause Confusion

It's disconcerting when you aren't sure how to feel about something or someone, or when you wish you knew why you feel the way you do about the same two things. What's more disconcerting as of recent is that I feel omniscient, but in an out-of-body sense where I am in recognition of every single thing I do, but have no understanding of why I am doing it or how I feel about it. Desire and wanting to be desired are comic concepts: never reciprocated and never the same. Never easy either. Sometimes I wish I was just watching my life like it was some ill-aired sitcom, I wouldn't worry half as much, if at all, about how often I seem to make wrong decisions. It'd be awful nice to sigh, or laugh and shout from the other side of a television screen. Regardless I need to stop likening my life and the people in it to scenes and characters from books and live in the real World.

I've decided the tugging in acceleration on my car last week that no longer seems to be an issue was water damage from the flash floods. I often misplace the notion that my car is not only 10 years old but ragged to death and so can't handle my some what ruthless road intervention. It's quite pathetic that I generally get annoyed when I see old people driving a nice car at a snail's pace and believe that they shouldn't deserve the priviledge when I drive a heap of shit and ductape, normally at least on par with the national speed limit. Unless your name's Harriet Lucas I'm almost definitely a very agitated person to look at right now. Like a crack fiend in rehab but not as jittery yet just as full of angst. I'll probably start asking into thin air to 'saved' and 'let go' similarily however. I need to be one of those people that is pretty to look at and a mystery to understand.

I'm getting increasingly illiterate and it's heart breaking.

Da(w)g Nasty

I never realised looking after a puppy would be such a complete consumption of my physical and mental morale. This dog I'm sitting isn't just any regular West Highland terrier with adorable ears and big eyes, it is Satan's hound out to literally ruin any ability I possess to remain sane. Following is a shortened list I have comprised of the havoc she has caused in 10 days:

Pissing on the carpet,
pissing on the kitchen floor,
pissing on the laundry,
walking shit through the house,
puking in the front room after eating what appears to be a yard's worth of grass,
jumping up me so many times it looks like Edward Scissor hands has been fondling my legs,
chewing my blackberry case to obliteration,
refusing to walk any longer half way around the block....

additional, less prominent things come to mind but just relating what I have previously typed makes me sigh in exasperation. Thank God I've never been dumb enough to get pregnant, I can't even handle a fucking dog.

The World is Like a Weight That's Dragging Me Down.

I'm so raging that I can't even write my anger into this blog sufficiently. Words don't even suffice. All my possessions keep breaking and I just cleaned up green puppy puke. I managed to walk into a hot frying pan and now I look like I self harm, I don't but am in severe contemplation just to let off some steam. I got wet driving home because my sunroof is broken, my sunroof will not close properly and I live in England.

I'm watching Wogan's Total Recall and eating peanut butter out of the jar and I'm fucking angry!

Time Turned Fragile

I can't really say luck has ever been a friend of mine, but as of recent it seems to be even less than an aquaintence, I can honestly say I've had the worst week of my life. I seem to excel in doing things or failing to do things that result in people getting fucked off , I've been as sick as half of Mexico and I've managed to ruin everything I've put my hands on. I'm typing this from the family desktop after spilling water on my Mac which FYI isn't covered by my warranty (only reiterates the fact that Apple are money-grabbing fat cat bastards) I think I'd find more fortune in the public funding expenses than in my life right now.

Being drugged to the max means I am having difficulty being articulate. I keep slurring my words and making little sense so socialising is about as appealing as a stroll through Kuwait right now. I've lost all the work I'd started for my novel on my Macbook so I generally feel like any molecule of intellect I have left has vanished in a haze of water damage.

Although I'm failing to formulate any notion of sense or interest right now I'm really glad Misha won BNTM, that is all.