Wrath. Pestilence. Indignation. Apathy.
If you were sickened and irritated by my last self-pitying and miserable entry, it's probably best to stop reading now.
This post is being eeked out on a Monday morning at work, far from the soulless pit that is my bedroom - There is a place where nothing happens, other than toxic apathy and constant viewing of anything on YouTube whilst I chainsmoke and play til 5am the crystal meth of computer games: Spider Solitaire. In the last few months I have won something like 300 games and lost a total of 4,000 times - Now that's a real commitment to OCD.
I feel sick right now, a rising tide frothing in my stomach wherein bobs last night's 4 semi-digested chocolate muffins, some Tesco's onion rings, and some plastic-tasting chicken and mushroom slices that were old and had been reduced. This means that everything I ate yesterday was either yellow, or chocolate brown.
I am wearing my jeans, which feel like a restrictive straitjacket for my legs. I have gained weight quicker than a Belushi brother on a bender.
I can't be arsed to write, and feel creatively blocked and physically apathetic. I have nothing to offer. I am bloated and fed up. I do nothing and am nothing. I had 2.5 hours sleep last night, so I can add mild confusion to my tally of negative emotions. I am completely bored with and completely indifferent to everything. If I had a loaded gun, I'd play Russian Roulette out of sheer disinterest in not playing Russian Roulette.
The weather is shit. I've got the 3 year itch at work. When I've felt like this in the past, I've quit whatever job I'm doing, fled the country, and done nothing somewhere warm. I can't do that again as it ends the same way; with me thinner and back in a different job I don't care about where I gain weight and the whole process repeats itself.
I am 35 this year, 35, and I still have absolutely no idea where I'm going. I was like this at 25. Doing this at 45 will really suck.
I am a piece of raw sewage floating down the cracked drainpipe that is my life, a filthy, empty bottle bobbing in a river of vomit. I have nothing to tell of the last few days, other than you can watch Jay & Silent Bob Strike Back on YouTube, and it's crap.
* A lettuce, a fucking lettuce, costs £1.24 in Tescos, but yellow food is slighty cheaper, although you will feel very very ill afterwards.
* If your mother has a Hungarian housekeeper, she will accidentally email you a 2009 calendar of semi-naked men, in Hungarian.
* No amount of watching atheist videos on YouTube will fill the yawning chasm of emptiness in your soul.
* No amount of watching Christian fundamentalist videos on YouTube will remove those thoughts of wanting to cave their smug, judgemental faces in with a fucking brick.
* Artie Lange has a more drug addled & fatter life than me, yet has managed to make lots of money off the back of that. (Until yesterday I'd not heard of him either, but that's the upside of months spent aimlessly surfing YouTube.)
* All shit and no bike makes Jack a fat boy.
* You have to threaten your landlord with withholding rent if you want pest control to come round just to look at your mouse.
* Sooner or later, porn stops becoming erotic and starts to look like what it is; the sad gyrations of financially needy, morally bankrupt exhibitionists being fucked by men with no conscience. Even sadder is when you're pondering all this while your jeans are round your ankles and you're sighing, masturbating half-heartedly and sighing as hot tears of regret roll down your fat face, 37 more rounds of Spider Solitaire temporarily on hold while you squirt limply into a tissue before shuffling dejectedly into the kitchen to reheat a beige fucking cube.
I am really, really terribly bored by it all.