Wednesday, 15 August 2012

Violently happy

I have started a blog about six times tonight. I am actually too angry to write. This is new and different. When I'm angry I usually can't stop writing. It's a weird experience to be mentally stymied by my own rage.

I'd go for a run except that it's 11pm and really dark (it's totally darker in Yorkshire by the way) and I'll probably get stabbed by some nutjob. It's been that kind of day. On the last run I managed to drag my weary carcass out for I got The Fear. I don't know where I am and I don't know where I'm going when I run round here, and yes I have GPS but I like the idea of just running and seeing where I end up. Although sadly, thus far, that's meant the middle of Acomb (not the most salubrious part of York it has to be said), most of the way down the Fulford Road (so so so so so SO dull), and then into random countryside.

The countryside was lovely but then I started thinking. What if I got murdered by a nutter? It looked just like the kind of place a nutter might choose. And then no one will know. Literally NO ONE would know where I was. There's no one to tell I'm off running. No one knows where I go. No one's expecting me back. Who would feed Fatty? Who would tell my mum?

I mean they'd probably notice at work after a while but they wouldn't know where I could be.

It was a sobering thought. Specially for Fatman. If he doesn't get fed reg-u-lar-ly bad things happen. Mostly consisting of him screaming in my face.

Maybe I should go out and score some narcotics. I'm pretty sure there are some small time student dealers opposite my house. To be fair, all you have to do on my road is sniff the air like a stoned Bisto kid and you can generally follow the smell of skunk and patchouli. I've heard. I mean, I haven't. Obviously. I don't condone such things in any way, shape or form. And nor should you. You BAD person.

Anyway, running and narcotics are out so I'm thinking fag smoking, Fatty squeezing, Great British Bake Off on iplayer followed by a little cry before I go to sleep. Yeah, that'll do.

You have your way. I have my way. As for the right way, the correct way, and the only way, it does not exist. 

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1 comment:

  1. I've been thinking the same - a bloke collapsed at work, with a heart-attack (he's alright)
    but it got me wondering; who would know if I collapsed in my own house ?

    The cats, and work. The cats would, just because they were hungry (and they'd prbably eat me, which is fair enough) and work because no-one was doing the shit I'm supposed to do.

    Neither of the above *really* count on the noticing scale, do they ?

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