Monday, August 15, 2011

The World's Most Pointless Individual

I have hours left until my summer holiday is over and I go back to work. Frankly I am in two minds about it. On the one hand, I've gotta go back to work. I'll be rudely awoken hours before I'd like to get up, and I'll lose my liberty in a small room doing a whole bunch of shit I couldn't care less about. On the other hand, I get to rejoin the land of the living. I've spent nearly two weeks having my first staycation, not that I actually went anywhere or did anything barring the occasional night out with friends. Instead, it was to be my chance to stay at home and write like the blazes, and finish my spectacular novel. Which of course didn't happen. Entire days were wasted as I spent most of my time watching clips on YouTube, playing Spider Solitaire, and eating, and in said time I've atrophied and withered away, except in a fat sense - meaning I've actually grown. Then there's the other stuff;
  • The management company running my apartments are billing me out of the blue for services rendered during a 9-month period before I'd even moved in. Thus any creative time is spent writing sarcastic and offensive letters to them and I'm now about to embark on a one-man mission to get rid of the fuckers on behalf of everyone else.
  • And when I'm not doing that, I've been napping during the day. My days thus began with me waking up to eat, only to return to bed. I've reverted back to the life I led when I was born.
  • I’ve woken from vast, 9 hour sleeps with a completely wet head. I’m convinced I’ve had some kind of stroke
  • And when I've been awake, I've spent it sat at an unusual angle, semi-naked in a towel (No point getting dressed, you see). This has caused my right thigh and buttock to remain perpetually numb for a whole week now. When I do walk around my flat I'm limping. I'm sure it's a life-threatening bloodclot.
  • My anal fissure, a tiny rip on the base of my lower intestine, has returned, providing last Saturday with perhaps one of the most agonising experiences of my life, and I'm not exaggerating. Nothing in that particular department had been happening for a couple of days as I shovelled vast amounts of carbohydrates down my neck. Then, finally, I felt the grizzled presence of a chained Doberman growling at the entrance of my doghouse. I had to literally muffle my screams with a towel and was left panting afterwards as if I'd run a marathon. With all the sweat and blood, it was the nearest I'd get to childbirth. Although I'm pretty sure that post-pregnancy women can sit down afterwards.
  • I'd decided I needed more fibre in my diet so, looking for a quick fix in its absence, I grabbed the bottle of Laevolac I'd bought the last time my backside sealed itself up. Laevolac is a pretty powerful liquid laxative that hadn't worked in the 24 hours since I last took it, so I'd downed what remained. 20 minutes later, a Japanese bullet train was racing through my intestines. I am pretty confident you'll understand my eagerness for this holiday to end as I sat on the toilet sighing while hurtling underneath me to its watery death gushed the 3:30 to Osaka via that fleshy, airtight tunnel with the scar on the front
All I want from what remains of this year is to finish this motherfucking book, and perchance diet. And get a better job. It's just the doing all of that that bores me. And if I've learned anything from this farce of a holiday, it's that I'll only waste time if I've got it.


Martin said...

I really can't believe you squandered all that time. Especially after everything you said...

fwengebola said...

I didn't squander it all. I've gone from 28,000 words to 40,000. Not the 75k I hoped, but whatever.

Redbookish said...

12,000 words in two weeks?! That's pretty damn' good. More than good. Not squandering.

Z said...

If you'd written 75,000 words in a hurry, they probably wouldn't have been much good. I'd love to think that, for once, you'd give yourself credit for what you have achieved rather than focus on what you haven't, but I doubt you ever will.

Anonymous said...

if the book is half the genious of the metaphors you used to described you irritated bowels, my chips are all in on this being a best seller...."3:30 to osaka", classic. and your so right "doing" is the worst part of any sequence.

Cheryl said...

That always seems to be the way it goes. Sounds like you got lots of writing done all the same, though.

Anonymous said...

These people believe in you and so should you. Sounds like you need to take a few more steps outside your head though, which probably means outside your flat, no? I'm assuming you live alone. Get out and meet some more real people not e-twats like me. Climb a hill and see what you see. And try cancelling your broadband connection for a couple of months and see what happens. And look after youself.

digressica said...

Dude, 12,000 words is more that I've written this year. Celebrate.

Anonymous said...


WV tickitt

fwengebola said...

RedB ~ Thanks, although vast tracts are from pre-written guff slotted in an jogged about.
But still, thanks.
Z ~ You really are very kind and I should be more relaxed about all this. Why can't I be more relaxed about these things?
Anon ~ Thank you. My only problem is crafting the mother into a novel-sized coherent story complete with plot twists and intriguing characters that actually have points.
That's the tricky part.
Cher ~ Buenos dias. Some writing. Could've always done more. Oh 'humpffh'.
Anon ~ I will do all that - theoretically - once I finish this sodding book. Then I'm going to climb hills with real people and smoking crack.
Dig ~ Get writing! said the hypocrite.
Anon ~ Thank you. Thank you very much.

roadkill said...

Fweng, I wonder what it is you want from what remains of your life (rather than of this year). It can't be all about giving an endlessly painful birth to a book (,) baby!

ambivalentnecrosis88 said...

dude...where have you been? It is importnant for me to know that I am not the only person wandering arround on this planet in perpetual confusion posessing socially blunderous ideas of how the world works....

fwengebola said...

Road ~ I... just... want... to be happy... I think. With a good, well paying... oh, I don't have a fucking clue.
ambivalent ~ Jesus, sorry, for some reason your comment didn't appear as an email alert. If it's any help, I've come back all worried about my ageing Dad, n' shit. I hope that helps share the burden of this fucking existence.

Alex Hendrix(Ambivalent) said...

yeah, i absolutely loved the last blog, especially the "hollywood misconception of dad", the silverback sage of dad calls me every couple of months or so when he gets too depressed to stomach his existence, he talks my ear off in sick desperate way,hoping to escape his fear of imminent death, he feels temporarily relieved, then i don't here from him for another couple of months.....but it's good to see yu writing again. i really enjoy your blog.

luna said...

Haha ,have no sympathy for your gut torment seeing as you never follow my advice!
that will teach you.It's funny though, so your suffering was not all in vain.

anon has got a point, go out to the portrait gallery, the zoo, the botanical garden,the open air theatre, and stop thinking.
london can be cool.

fwengebola said...

Amb ~ Thanks for that. It is appreciated even if I hardly write. My Dad hardly calls. And then there's all that guilt. It's like carrying a fucking oil tanker of non-specific remorse that I should be a more caring son in the winter of his years - but then he has nothing to say - absolutely bugger all - and I just get annoyed and don't contact him.
Lose/ lose.
And then of course I'll regret it forever, one awkward day.
Lune ~ What actually was or is your advice? More fibre and water? Some groundbreaking shit like that? I am doing my best (sort of)
And thanks for picking up the most pointless comment above. It wasn't you, was it?