Writing this post is how I imagine trying to run a marathon as an athlete feels, after they've taken a sabbatical for 6 months and eaten nothing but KFC. I know my brain used to have a vocabulary and my fingers would occasionally press the right buttons. I've been staring at the screen for about an hour now and there's very little by way of ideas or coherent thought structures coming to mind.
In my defence I've had a shit week. My brain's melted through sheer exhaustion. In the last 7 days I've been London to Gloucester to London to Bournemouth to London to Exeter to London and spent the non-car hours in a call centre working for £5 an hour. Sounds fun and glamorous when I say it, I know, it hasn't been particularly.
I can tell I'm tired and cranky for the following reasons:
1. I'm sad about losing Twitter followers. I don't usually care about Twitter followers. Whenever I lose a follower I try and imagine they are someone I'm friends with on Facebook... then I wish I had lost more and deleted my Facebook account.
2. I'm crying
3. I've had a seized up tongue since Tuesday. A SEIZED UP TONGUE? WHAT IS THIS NONSENSE? Well mum, dad and anybody else reading, at first I thought it was an ulcer on the side of my tongue. But it has done nothing to abate and now the muscles in my throat and jaw are also tightening. It's quite painful to move my tongue. DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH YOU USE YOUR TONGUE IN A DAY? If it's not gone by tomorrow I'm going to cut it out.
4. I'm listening to the Mamma Mia soundtrack.
5. I just took a 6 minute break from this blog to analyse whether it was a trick of the light or whether my moustache was actually darker on the left side. It was not a trick of the light.
6. I've spent the day singing "You'd Better Draw Something" to the tune of Bob Dylan's "Serve Somebody". I am that ethereal blend of dangerously influenced by popular culture and achingly obscurely uncool.
By far the worst thing that's happened this week is finding out that I have to move out of my beloved house. I'm beyond gutted. Circumstances that are far too dull and devoid of comedy to explain are forcing me to move out. This means there are lots of decisions to be made... oh my sweet meat sucking fruit bat Christ I hate making decisions.
Back to Lapland?
Back to Somerset?
Down to Brighton?
Stay in London?
When faced with bad circumstance I think it's very important to consider what rock bottom for your personal circumstances are and then mediate your response from there. Rock bottom in my life would never be worse than moving in with a family member until I was sorted. And if that's rock bottom then life is pretty sweet really. If you're not totally convinced by that as a comfort method it's also fun to mould the cast of Made in Chelsea out of your own shit and then throw them at a nearby wall.
So that's my week. I also took some time this week to be a little bit more politically aware and compiled a list of what I consider to be "Features of the Well Off" so that when I am in charge I will know who to tax, the list includes the following:
1. Having a Tempur mattress in the spare room.
2. Using the following carrier bags for rubbish: Steamer Trading, Marks & Spencer or French Connection. They're good bags, keep them for a picnic.
3. Buying real dusters instead of just using dirty socks.
4. Using a Taxi sober/Considering congestion charge roads as optional.
So, there's my stuff. I guess my deep felt feeling of bullshit frustration at losing my house has made me want to move back into my little bloghouse. Apologies if this upsets you in anyway but in all honesty if you not only clicked the link but also read down to this point then it's your own bastard fault and you might want to think about leaving the internet for some to rethink your existence. Just a thought. If you've had a good time then I'll see you tomorrow for some more waffling. Mmmmm. Crumpets.