Anyway, I haven't returned with hilarious anecdotes and joyous stories designed to make you smile. I've come back with a series of questions over matters that make me feel like I've been kicked in the testicles. Repeatedly. By a bear.
Like that, only less likely to give me epilepsy and more likely to just make me spend a couple days in bed cursing sunlight and the cheerful nature of birdsong.
Yeah, so basically I've had a strange month. Lets start with the good stuff first. I got offered a job! Well, kind of. As long as the paperwork checks out, and there is no reason it shouldn't, then I have a job. It's just at Npower as somebody who answers the phone when you or someone else call up to complain or with some questions. This is a good thing because of my fantastic communication skills and the money it will bring in (over £1k a month) but it is a bad thing because, despite being good at talking and interacting with them, I hate people.
Hate them.
I probably hate you.
This stems from my fantasticly misguided belief that I am better than most people. I'm really not. This realisation that I'm not as awesome as I thought I was would probably lead me to hate myself, but I don't hate myself. I hate people, and I'm not a proper person so I'm exempt from my own contempt.
I'm not a proper person because I have figured out that I am a character. Whether it be some sort of Truman Show-esque character or a character in a sick book somebody is writing, I'm just the figment of somebody's vivid imagination.
Call me insane if you like, but it is the only explanation for the series of events in my life. There is literally no other way this stuff could happen if not specifically designed by somebody else, the timing is too perfect, the links too fine for it all to be an accident.
It's beyond a joke now. I don't normally complain like this, but seriously, it's crossed a line. I accept that bad things happen to good people, and I'm not even a particularly good person so of course bad things are going to happen to me. But all at once? And at this volume? What did I do to piss God off? Was it not believing in him? Was it for claiming that the devil is cooler anyway because he can play guitar solos? I don't know but Jesus Christ (was it the blashpemy?) this is ridiculous.
You know when you're really, really bored and you end up watching some nature documentary and it's never anything cool like sharks or dinosaurs and it's always some stupid insect in a jungle, or that smarmy bird that jumps about with it's disturbing wing/tail face trying to get laid?
This scary bastard?
Well, yeah, you know when you're watching those and you see some pathetic little creature and it shows you it's awesome defence mechanism? Like that bug that has two chemicals inside its body, and when threatened it mixes them and they cause a sort of explosion out of its anus that propells it to safety? Well, I noticed I have my own strange defence mechanism, and it doesn't involve my anus. It basically involves ignoring what's actually going on for a bit, then accepting I need to deal with it, think about it and feel bad until I actually just can't feel bad anymore, get over it, be alright again.
I'll admit that's not exactly a perfect mechanism, but fuck off, it works. Most of the time anyway.
You know when it doesn't work?
When every fucking thing happens at once.
Don't get me wrong, I know this post makes me sound like a dick, but I'm not a dick... mostly. I'm a pretty good friend (for a time being, until people inevitably get sick of me and I move onto my next herd of associates) and I'll help you out if you need it, but if I do I at least expect the same courtesy back.
I'm very selective about people I share with, and because of incidents in the past I have (had) three people I felt I could properly talk to.
That number is now 0. So I'm doing the 'dealing with it yourself' method. The only thing that is worse to deal with by yourself than emotions is a house fire.
So, considering I am letting everything that is currently eating me from the inside out stay on the inside and not come out my mouth to bother you, could you lot do me a favour and please not tell me about how shit your life is because something trivial has happened like your boyfriend only put one kiss on the end of his text. Fuck off. I don't care. I have my own stuff to deal with and considering I'm dealing with it myself, and considering it's all happened at once, my attention is kind of focussed on me right now. So unfortunately I don't have the time, or the strength to spend 45 minutes telling you that you and *insert name of whoever the fuck has done something wrong in your eyes this time* will be alright in the end.
I normally post the link to completed blogs on Twitter and I can think of a few people who will have read this thinking I am talking about them.
I am talking about them.
There will, however, be a few who will think I'm talking about them, but I'm not. There are some of you I genuinelly do have time for and I think they know who they are so I won't name them.
Anyway, I've stressed myself into needing a cigarette now so I'm going to go inhale a combination of sweet, deadly chemicals to calm my mood for half an hour.
I hope reading this, slightly angrier than intended, blog has left with you with the same sweet feeling of release normally reserved for after sex that it has left me with.
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