Here’s the story of tea, yet more illness again, and scolded genitalia.
If I told you there was a perfectly logical explanation for sitting in the dark eating seven pancakes wearing nothing but my underwear, would you believe me? There was a perfectly logical explanation. I would tell you what it was but this has been such a testing few weeks, I really don’t want to talk about it. I’m just mentioning it now so you’re aware that if you happen to turn up on my doorstep, prepare to be mortified.
I haven’t been okay since I turned 23. Some would argue that a half-naked pancake eating dark lover is a person who was never okay. Am I okay? Hardly my fault we don’t have any lightbulbs. Blame Edison. I blame him for everything. I blamed him when the toaster didn’t work. I should really have blamed Humphry Davy, the true inventor of the ‘bulb. But I think that when one is hitting a toaster with a slipper in a futile attempt to make it work, the details of invention are hardly relevant.
Just this morning, I was pounding on the screen of my blasted tablet when my cup of tea, precariously perched on my left leg, leapt into the air, landed on my left thigh and hurtled its way toward my genitals like a tidal wave of doom. All I could do was watch. If I had a straw, I might have been able to keep up with the flow and suck most of the liquid up. Ambitious, but that’s my middle name. Actually, it’s Thomas-Joseph. But if I ever have children, or one I didn’t know about suddenly turns up on my doorstep on Christmas Day and wrongly assumes I’ll let him in, Ambitious would be a great middle name for him. I’d give him three names. Humphrey Ambitious Mugglewick. Great name. Sounds like the type of person who’d become a siffleur (a professional whistler).
A severely scolded penis wasn’t the only thing that gave me the old collywobbles this week. Why, right this very moment, my nose has started bleeding all over my tablet I’m writing this on. And considering I’m only in my underwear, I look like I’ve been clobbered in the nose by a randy burglar who stole nothing but my clothes. I will tend to this and come back, but you won’t notice because this isn’t the BBC and I don’t have a test card.
My tablet, you may be wondering, was winding me up in ever-increasing circles. It’s why I was hitting it. I’ve heard they’re brittle but I’ve thrown mine around so much and it hasn’t broke yet. I once heard about a man who downloaded a scales app. I think he failed to see it was a joke app. He wrote a serious letter of complaint to Apple demanding his money back due to a broken screen. How much did he weigh? I’m adamant he hadn’t emptied his pockets. Or took the socks out of his underwear.
The nosepiece came off my glasses this week, too. The rubber bit. You’d think it was easy to find, yet it’s transparent. I spent much of that day on the floor. Like Norm from Cheers after he arrives home from the bar. I distinctly remember overhearing dad say to mother, “I’m worried about Ally – he’s sniffing the carpet”. IT WAS TRANSPARENT! HOW ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO FIND A TRANSPARENT PIECE OF RUBBER SMALLER THAN ANTHONY’S WEINER’S POLL RATINGS!”
Remarkably, I found it. Oh yeah. In school, I may have failed mathematics, history, IT, media studies, geography and didn’t even bother with PE, but I think it’s now clear my strengths lie in other areas.
Elsewhere this week, my ulcer count continued to rise. I’m up to four. All in my mouth. But when it comes to body woes, nothing can top my super-cough. Yes, you read correctly. I’m still coughing. FOUR WEEKS! Holy crap, what have I contracted? Small pox? Maybe it’s an alien virus. How would I know? We don’t know what aliens do to us in our sleep. I often have very pleasant dreams, so it must be something good. Maybe they are just observers, but one of them sneezed on me. Or maybe I’m part of a secret government experiment. Maybe I’m not real. Or maybe, just maybe, I’m having toss all luck lately.
As you can see, I’ve had a difficult week. But I shan’t complain. I said that time after time, after every put down, and I got up and fought back. That’s what you do in life. You get up. You never back down. God can throw ulcers, nosebleeds, hayfever, unreality, pancakes, a chest infection, power failures and a burning humdinger at me, but He can’t break my spirit.
Of course, we all have limits in life. There’s always a line we arrive at where we say, “Oh, screw this – nothing will ever go right for me”. I was being so, so brave this week. Trying not to let much of the aforementioned misery put me down. And after all that hell, I snapped. Just one little thing that caused it. I was only going into town.
I walked into a tree.
That, along with everything else you’ve read here today, seriously happened. My shoulder is in agony. Oh, screw this. My 23rd year of life started bad and it’s getting worse. I just want it to stop. My body to stop attacking itself. Things to stop attacking my body. Trees to stop getting in my way. Stupid tree. Seriously, who puts a tree in the middle of a forest?
I’ll try to remain brave, dear readers. But right now, I think I need to go for a lie down and let the aliens do their work.
American writer, Jarod Kintz (b. 1982), once said: “Sleeping in a tinfoil suit keeps me warmer and helps prepare me for my voyage to the moon. Would you care for some liquorice?”
Peace Out :|:
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To Contrive & Jive
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