Killing Time is a slow way to die

Howdy doody!

Yes, yes, I’m still alive. I know, believe me I know, I’m just as disappointed as you are. I write this, juiced to the nines on any kind of medicine I can successfully ingest while slathered in Vicks. My neck has become a potters field of Doritos, biscuits and varying meats of questionable origin. I am now made up of 98% snot… And I dunno if I’ve even kept on to the remaining 2%.

Get your tune here! 

Fucking hell, it’s been a busy two weeks.

The worst part is it didn’t give me anything to talk about.

Tragic,

Isn’t it?

Two weeks.

Two. Weeks.

Think about that for a moment (or less)

Two weeks. That’s 14 days, which is 336 hours, or if you prefer, 20,160 minutes.

Which translates to, 1,209,600 seconds.

When you break it down, that is not an insignificant amount of time.

Why in two weeks I could plan a bank heist and make off with a big score. I could probably track down and learn a man’s ticks and vices, so that I may use them to blackmail him. I could, I dunno, be a more attentive partner.

images (1)
I wonder how taboo it is to make eye contact with your reader as you climax.

Is any of this advisable, practical or even likely?

Hardly,

but that’s not what I’m saying today.

Today, I’m ranting to probably myself as I’ve yet to figure out this whole marketing malarkey you about time.

The Science of Wasting Time.

I think we’re all guilty of this in some form or another. You get up, maybe you brush your teeth, hopefully, you change your clothes. If you must keep some old garb on, socks are ok, they are the bra of the feet after all, which are the jeans of the chest.

You can probably get away with wearing em for 3 days without washing butpleasedonttakeadvantageofthis!

You might skip breakfast, OR you have too much breakfast, there is no middle ground.

THERE IS NO MIDDLE GROUND!

Whatever you choose, then you head off to work and what a fucking thing that is, eh? Understand my experience comes from being a never-was whose yet to work towards something they want. Every job has been just that. A job.

You get there, and Christ is it rough. It’s too long, with far too many people. They won’t stop talking, they won’t stop needing. You barely have time to recognise the migraine that is building because,

It just

Won’t

Stop.

Somehow, you get through it. Monday seems like the worst day doesn’t it? Because at the weekend, some little part of us is saying “hey there, don’t you fret none, cos that place, why that place will be gone!” and we so want to believe that.

I’m not sure what accent the little voice is talking in. Let’s make it the reader’s choice!

But every Monday morning, the truth sets in, like a (Editor’s notes: Fucking hell!) cancer. Every Monday morning, we remember Santa isn’t real.

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Forced metaphor? Perhaps… Ok, I just really wanted to use this picture of Santa in therapy. Don’t judge me!

On the way out, we say our goodbyes to those around us.

See ya tomorrow Chief!

Good luck Brian, say hello to the missus for me! *he said he was married, right?*

Take it easy young person, hope you yeet yourself into happiness!

Then, we get home. Even that is no small feat. Be it traffic, public transport or getting stuck leaving work at the same time as that guy, our journeys home are nothing short of the Odyssey itself.

After all that, is it any wonder we just want to shut down. It is so very often I feel the day asks for everything I have to give, and more. By the time I’ve willed myself into cooking up a dinner followed by washing up the dinner, it’s a miracle I have the will to so much as turn on the tv.

I’ve said it countless times in many places, but I love this.

Writing,

I mean, this is what I want to do with myself. In some form or another, I think I will live a tormented existence unless I find a way to make this aspect of myself,

My main self.

This is what I crave.

So how come I can’t do it at home?

Of course, the answer is I can do this at home.

Not every sentence must be immaculate. Articulate on the other hand? Maybe

But the Will?

The fucking Will.

To do something for yourself,

Is brief.

It’s just a moment.

But time, no matter how fleeting,

Is nothing if not insignificant.

If you’re not living your life,

If you feel your living for someone else,

or worse,

living just to be.

Then it is easy to feel life is asking too much of you.

It is easy to get bogged down in the mire of it all and just,

give up.

I say,

it’s much harder to live with no dream at all.

Even if its 5 mins, when you get home, do something for you. Something proper, something you earnestly enjoy. Tomorrow, give it 6 mins.

The day after lets up the ante and make it 10.

You owe it to yourself to be the person you want to be.

P.S

Jeezus dosed up me is… Well, he’s kinda pretentious. Don’t hold it against him, I think he means well.

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