I think about death all the time. I’m sure we all do.
I have issues with it though. The thing that stops me to actually giving up on this pointless load of nonsense is that I have daft ideas that need to be written down. If I even get to the end of this tirade of rubbish thoughts, I’d actually give up and stop breathing.
Went to Hebden again and only heard one story of stupid hippy behaviour. There where plenty of kids with daft names. I’m sure I heard a Ruprecht at one point and a kid at a May day fair was called Tarquin. The thing that stuck out was that all the people there seem to be trying to bore each other to death with social media. Whilst I hide my mental thoughts in this blog thing that I fail to update, these people have opinions on everything.
The one thing that stuck in my mind about my trip to Hebden was a woman who had a head aches so bad that she was off work. “Pain killers not working? Give up on paracetamol and try codeine” I hear you scream at the screen. This person was so ill with a headache she was off work. There was talk of her vision going blurred. So what was she doing? Booking her self into A&E? getting a scan organised for the massive tumour that is attempting to force her eye out of its socket? No. She’s on facebook asking if anyone has a fresh sprig of feaverfew. I despair. These people will prove Darwin right. I think her name was Jesper.
I am thinking of quitting ukulele group. I listen to a wind up gramophone when I’m stressed. I bought some reading glasses from the pound shop. I’m more interested in the state of North Korea than celebrities on TV. I am now working 11 hours a day and sleeping for roughly 5 hours a night. I’m middle aged at 43 and I’m losing interest in this world.
I’m sat in a warehouse with mothers. The children take off their shoes and run towards the “screaming area”. Padded floors and rope ladders lead to friction burns next to stick on tattoos and tears rolling onto purple cordial smiles.
The mothers split into two conversations. I’m ignored by both.
I’m the only dad amongst mums.
My child is the only girl amongst boys.
They are drinking lager. I want a tea.
I am uneasy with losing sight of my only child in a cage of gutteral screaming. What could possibly warrant that level of billowing shrieks?
I catch a glimpse of a conversation. Three ladies, 20 years my junior. I lip read “I was all like…” as she rubs her breasts and rib cage seductively, “he just played Angry Birds”, and they laughed. I’m delighted they didn’t look at me during this. It’s normally my luck to walk in to observe what I shouldn’t.
There are too many fat people, too many tattoos and too many bags–under-eyes in this world