I haven’t really been very good at the week just gone. In fact I’ve failed it. Face ache, fuckhead, grumpy bugger – those are the things I’ve won at. And now it is the weekend and…I’m sucking at Saturday so far too.
Chores that were abandoned yesterday on account of ouchy fucking ouch of ouchery in the fucking face needed to happen today. Only I didn’t wake until almost two in the afternoon (didn’t sleep till dumb ass o’clock so that’s fair). And then my car wouldn’t start because (I very much hope) it’s out of gas. Had been running on fumes for a day or two anyway but no longer fumes enough to get me to a filler upper place.
Ha ha ha. And some more ha ha. With added ha ha on top.
So fuck it, I thought, I’ll walk into town and do my chores. The sun is shining, my face is slightly less ouchfuck. What could possibly go wrong? You know where this is going, don’t you?
Everything. Everything could possibly go wrong. Everything, including World War Nine and an accidental vasectomy. Ok then, not everything, not World War Vasectomy. But some things. Some things can possibly go wrong with that plan. Like my face going all ouch to fucking fuckety fuck within ten minutes of home. Like a billion people jamming up the streets because it’s sunny and they all think nothing can possibly go wrong. Like the painkillers in my system containing codeine which enables a middle aged wanker to blithely step out in front of oncoming traffic as though it isn’t there. They had good brakes, I’ll give them that. Hooray for good brakes. And for the very inventive swearing from the driver. You win at foul mouthery today, madam.
So I’m hiding. I’m cowering from reality in a shitty cafe, the only upside of which is that it is conveniently close to two of the places I needed to do chores. In ten minutes I can collect a thing (nonyabusiness what it is, I don’t have to tell you everything) and I can go away from town. I can go away from people who all think nothing can possibly go wrong. I can go back to my bedroom where I keep the bed. And I can cry and pretend this all happened in a dream. To a fish. But not a nice fish, a vindictive fish who totally deserves this kind of shit because they didn’t even care when Nemo got lost.