Saturday, June 20, 2009

Saturday 20 June 2009

The Day The Clown Cried

I can’t help but feel in a shit fucking mood today. I wake up at 9.15 with the TV still on playing Yo Gabba Gabba or rather some weird hybrid of the show where everyone appears to now have dubbed English accents. This however is not what pisses me off, more that I wanted to be up early this morning to go get a haircut because currently it is a mess. Waking at this time however I do not feel the ability to pull/get my shit together to head down to Holland/Clacton.

As I seethe it is at times like these I could/would really benefit from having someone around me to tell me to either “shut the fuck up” or “calm the fuck down.” I possess neither.

For some reason I want to watch Hitchcock movies today. That shouldn’t really be much of an ambition but at this time to pull that dream together just feels impossible.

I was ranting on Facebook again last night and I can’t help but feel I will wind up regretting. It looks like this blog has now been discovered by at least one person.

On cue, albeit a little late, I get dressed and head down to Asda to work on my routine. I am hungry and there is no food in the flat so I’ll be purchasing excessively this week no doubt.

I feel huge today and as I slip on one of the few remaining tops that fit me (so by default my favourite) I notice that there are still sick marks on it from Tuesday night. This truly is a sorry state of affairs. Instead of changing however I just do a quick bit of DIY washing on the top.

The weekly shop turns out to be a resounding failure. Again I notice the car suddenly has a horrible new smell attached to it and when I get to Asda I notice a few more speckles of puke on my top. Wandering around the store still half asleep I have no imagination and as a result my groceries this week lack any variation.

Upon returning to my car as I put my shopping bags on the passenger seat I notice a black bin bag sat on the backseat. This is a fucking mystery; perhaps Santa came early and left me a present. As I give it a curious prod it turns out it is a fucking bag of rubbish. As I rack my brains/memories for a point and/or reasoning as to why I put it there it dawns on me that the old man must have put it there for whatever reason. As I slip into my seat the smell of the car once again hits me and now it is obvious what it is and where it is originating from.

Once back home I call up the parents to ask why there is a black bin bag of rubbish sat in my car. The old man answers and I snap at him with some kind of rhetorical questioning, bad cop style. For a moment he doesn’t know what I am on about but then his memory jogs and it hits him what has happened. He briefly laughs about it but by this point I am truly steaming about the smell it has now sunk in my car. On the line I snap at him some more and he responds “but I didn’t do it on purpose” but that isn’t really the point. Before things get too heated I snarl “please don’t do it (put rubbish bags in my car)” and with that I hang up.

Pissed off I quickly peak into the bag and right at the top is an emptied pile of fag butts, the worst smell in my nasal vocabulary. The state of my car makes me feel nauseous and at a time where I am feeling beaten this is just another shitty thing on top of an already big pile of shit. This serves to be what finally sends me over the edge.

With fury I grab the bag and head over to my communal bin stores throwing it against the wall bouncing into the bins in the hope that the shit from inside sprays everywhere and I am able to ruin someone else’s day in the same manner in which my own has been fucked (tit for tat). As I leave the bin area and slam the door heavily which I later notice on my next trip to the bins is now broken by the slam. Angry child that I am.

In a childish strop now I angrily put my crappy groceries away and endeavour to do something of use but with such a bullish frame of mind regarding this state of affairs I just head back to bed around midday with view to restarting the day.

When I awaken the time is now 3PM and I have managed to accomplish wasting my Saturday and half of my weekend.

Needing to bank a cheque into the Alliance & Leicester account I rush over to Balkerne Heights where my cheque book is but upon arrival it is nowhere in sight and neither are the olds who appear to both be out walking the dog or something.

In a huff I begin scanning the channels on Sky and come across an episode of Star Trek Next Generation with the Borg in. It has been years since I have watched this show and I always thought the Borg was pretty cool. Watching it now it is surprising to see how wooden the acting appears.

Not long afterwards the Old Man returns and I pissed off about not being able to do my banking I have another go/pop at him which immediately causes more tension/hassle.

As mum serves as some kind of peacemaker between us I snag some dinner and potter around their place before heading home for 7.30 and a documentary about modern China on BBC2.

Returning home this evening, eventually the rain ceases and with it comes a most beautiful of evenings. A late evening sun emerges and with it a breath of fresh air and the promise for an optimistic future.

Buoyed on I drink a can of Rockstar energy drink and get into some writing.

As the evening heads towards an end once more I find myself laughing at Have I Got News For You before truly indulging in the amusing breakdown of Sree on Big Brother. He is so dislikeable his pain is delightful. It’s a schadenfreude Saturday night.

At 9.40 Chris (Baldwin) texts me to see if I still want to go out. This is just too late. I make my apologies and he concedes that he is tired too. This is a good sign that the ATP issues were only on the surface and not lasting. Maybe.

Eventually I fall asleep watching Risky Business with the movie now making more sense to me than ever before. Still not sure what happens in the end though.

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