This is a low. Poor, falling rapidly. And no amount of the shipping forecast advising me to go dogging in a Humber Sceptre will make a difference. Nothing is making a difference. Sunshine hits my skin as I am on my way to an appointment. So what? How very clever of sunshine to penetrate this planet’s fragile atmosphere and yet not totally irradiate everything in its path. I’ll be dead one day and sunshine will continue to do what it’s doing right now so it’s not as if it cares about me.
Birdsong fills the sky as flying creatures announce their spring presence across my neighbourhood. Shut. The. Fuck. Up. You’re not big or clever. You’re simply shouting “My tree, mine!” and extolling your virtues when it comes to fucking just like drunken students pouring out of a nightclub on a wave of puke and hormones.
People I don’t know smile at me. What the hell are they after? Fucking rude bastards, not even stopping to consider whether I like smiles or not. Some of us are allergic to smiling you know, you could have killed me.
Look, give me caffeine or give me death. There are currently no ports in between. I drink coffee, I mope, I just about think up reasons to continue breathing. All very familiar. I think I’ll take up fascism, it’s the new fad.