Monday, March 21, 2011

Whinge, Bitch, Moan & Bleat

So here’s the post I’ve been intending to write, but only because it’s been a while. Truth be told I’ve been putting it off because, Boo hoo, it’s going to be whingey.

And that’s ‘cos nothing’s happened; nuh-thing, other than the passing of time. And gaining weight. I’ve tried eating a salad or some fruit, but it broke my pampered fat soul. So now I’m back to cake for breakfast*

But my main whinge is time. I don’t seem to have enough of it anymore (barring the weekend, but more on that in a moment).

I get home from work each night no sooner than
7pm, by which point I can barely be bothered to do anything thinky as I mainline Youtube whilst force-feeding lard down my neck. And there’s a delicious irony in lackadaisically watching TED motivational videos in my pants whilst playing Spider Solitaire.

Thus, motivated I ain’t, and it’s considerably hindering My Brilliant (ha!) Novel, a novel which I have been writing in one form or another for several years now. This last year for example – an entire year - has been spent plucking up the courage just to read my first draft (which I did in January. It was absolutely, utterly awful) – So my current re-write is ostensibly a brand new draft, and that’s the problem. This is becoming the Project that Never Ends, and I’m wondering why I’ve set myself this mother of all personal homeworks.

On the plus side, it isn’t too bad. There’s an actual story for starters.  But on the minus side, I’m not actually writing it. Oh, and get this; my lack of imagination is so woeful that it’s essentially my autobiography. It transpires the fiction I’d attempted to invent was nowhere near as good as the crap I’ve actually lived, even if said life is now in its death throes.

So if I do ever finish this, it’ll be a one-book wonder.
But I’m not sure I’ve even got the time.

That’s because I’ve somehow found myself taking a leading role in my apartment block’s ‘Organisation of people what live here too’ (I could word that better, but I’m terrified of using keywords my neighbours could Google only to find this fucking blog).

Thus I’m spending my weekends at meetings, and contacting several ‘Companies what do Cleaning and Insurance and Stuff for Domicile Condominium things’.
This has wound up being massive, as I single-handedly discuss thousand-pound plans on behalf of 180 flats and houses that don’t even know I’m doing it. However, I have single-handedly sorted out our ‘Room with lots of Fitness Things in it,’ so I’ll soon be able to feel guilty about never bothering to visit the place just two floors below where I cry myself to sleep.

Although I’m single-handedly also fucking myself ragged on a daily basis - normally before I cry myself to sleep.

So, I dunno, I really seem to abuse my spare time. I don’t have friends anymore, so my weekends have become an orgy of measured excess, if indeed the definition of Excess has become ‘(noun) The state of waking up late, walking to the Co-op and buying one’s body weight in crisps and Fairtrade chocolate chip brownies, then going home to watch The Atheist Experience clips on Youtube before wanking into a sock and hiding under a table in foetal position as one’s body shakes with quiet sobs whilst every single mistake and lapse of fucking judgement spools through the mind’s eye like an eternal, neverending You’ve Been Framed! of regret.’

So come Monday, having managed to avoid writing more than a paragraph of my Brilliant (ha!) Novel, I don’t feel justified to write my blog, see?

However I’m trying to make my free time a little more beneficial. Last night, for example, I managed to finish season 1 of the near-decade old The Wire , and brilliant it was. It may also explain why I thought it a good idea to shave my Horrible Scrappy Red Beard™ into a goatee. I normally hate this peculiar fashion error but it wasn’t until I’d done it that I realised I’d subliminally accepted into my head  that programme's several handsome alpha-male black men acting themselves silly with the same beard.
Trouble is, I’m not black, or handsome, and I’m barely a delta-male. But now it’s too late and I’m walking around with a ginger-fringed cakehole.

And that’s where I’ll leave it, I think. I have other issues, such as a perpetual weak left knee (that my boss has scared the living shit out of me by deciding it’s arthritis), and my head’s riddled with tinnitus - a consistent, neverending whistley hiss that gets louder the less sleep I’ve had the night before. Although I suspect inserting small buds into my ears and blasting House into them at high volume isn’t helping.

Oh, and I had an AIDS test because of the sex I had with that prostitute.
The results came back negative, which confused me for about three minutes. Positive, to my mind, is good. Negative ain't.

You get the idea.



*I’ve not actually been eating cake for breakfast – well, not lately. I just like the way it sounds here. And tastes, on occasions when I have done it.

10 comments:

Z said...

Watch Series 2 at once, because if you don't laugh out loud at the beginning of the first episode of Series 3 ... well, you will. I watch it sometimes, just because I need a cackle.

And I'm sorry you're even more down than usual. Wish I had something helpful to say.

daisyfae said...

oh, dear... the organized residents association thing? on the bright side? you are going to have A LOT to write about.

personally, i would rather put cigarettes out in my eyeballs than work on such a committee... good luck with that!

looby said...

A book based on your life would fly off the shelves Fweng. Carry on with it!

Claire said...

Well, at least you're not alone. Resign from that residents thing, I would. I did, and never looked back. Also, have you tried Pringles for breakfast? It's a mind-scrambler. Oh, and what looby said.

digressica said...

Actually LOL'd for real at much of this (still laughing at "there’s a delicious irony in lackadaisically watching TED motivational videos in my pants whilst playing Spider Solitaire."), then got to the last bit and though... you didn't even wear a condom, you useless bastard.

digressica said...

*thought

Anonymous said...

No condom. Ouch.

Z said...

Where on earth have you been for the last six weeks? You can't say you've been too busy again, not after all the bank holidays we've had.

fwengebola said...

Z ~ Agh! Bugger. That was decades ago now. How did it start?
And thanks, but I've since moved on to vague melancholia.
df ~ I totally didn't write shit about it! Although you've reminded me I've got to proofread some fucking letter about somesuch shit.
Looby ~ You've totally made me feel guilty now.
Claire ~ Hmm. You too now. And I've totally had Pringles for breakfast. Have you tried them fried and covered in chocolate?
Dig ~ Thanks, but where did you get the 'no condom' bit from? Just having the test? That was for peace of mind. I totally wore a sex-welly.
Anon ~ Hi, Danny.
Z ~ Hello again. Not quite 'busy', more 'dead inside'. But thank you. You've made me write something.

Jill of All Trades said...

I really hate posting comments on old posts, especially when they are depressing rants-like bacon grease gone cold and...uhm rancid-no, not that bad. But I've just discovered you, and since you haven't written anything in the last few hours, I am forced to go through the muck of your past, dig out the person you were, and try not to let the passage of time get on me as I make my way out. Because even in your stale funk of a post you are a savior of a friend, whose thoughts, fears, and explicit descriptions make me feel a little bit sane in my own uncomfortably funky present.

And EXCUSE me, but I've spent most of my twenty-something years saying I was going to be a writer and writing a whole lotta really awful fiction, cuz I thought it's gotta be fake in order for it to be real-well I'd say the development in the last 10 years of larger than life memoirs, auto-biographies, reality-tv shows, and-ahem- blog celebs would imply-it's gotta be real to sell-so screw the fiction and write the Truth, from what I've read so far, no one will know the difference.