A Certain Substance

Happy Saturday, folks! 

I'm still bloody well snowed in and it's really boring and cold. Got some heavy beats laid down for my novel today though, which I guess is a good thing. 

Today's poem is all about the realistic terrors one goes through when faced with a life that has briefly crumbled before your eyes. You just gots to scoop them pieces into a cellophane bag and throw them off a cliff, otherwise they'll get real mouldy and start to impinge on your brand new life, which, though it may be a little slow to begin with, it going to be a thousand times better than the old one because you're not carrying around a dead weight of rancidity. Glean from that what you will my darlings.

Day 38! (Scary number!)

The Four Stages of Overcoming Defeat

Stage 1 involves covering your face with PVA glue

and singing along with the microwave.

Become a bed. Let everything inside you fall asleep.

Draw 1 inch of water and then eat the paper.

You are ready for Stage 2.

Carve a story of the sea onto the back of a chocolate bar.

Sell it to a sheikh for a thousand apologies.

With them, buy yourself a new backpack;

we’ll be going on a hike.

Whitewash a cabbage and use it as a snowball

against the fiends of the mountain.

They might look like thin air,

but they’re definitely going to try and kill you.

Take ‘em down to advance to Stage 3.

Stay in for twelve years waiting for a phone call.

Stage 4 arrives when you realise what a fool you’ve been,

at which point you will stand up, turn once around

and be transported to a train station of yesteryear.

Get on the train and don’t look back.  

There's a Hole in that Snowflake

Oh woe is me! Here I am, back at home for Christmas all excited about the prospect of watching Elf and  crocheting to my heart's content in preparation of the upcoming festivities and being reunited with my graphics tablet, only to discover that NONE of these things can happen!

There I was on Sunday afternoon avidly refreshing my Facebook homepage, because all my friends are "so interesting"* and definitely not just a distraction from the portfolio I was trying to finish. I was all *scroll scroll scroll like scroll scroll*, when I saw a status that referred to the fact that Elf, THE best Christmas film of all time would be on that very afternoon...exactly 24 hours before I would be home where there's a TV for me to watch things like Elf and Neighbours and Murder, She Wrote. Oh! I could have WEPT. And I did, inwardly, where people can't judge you for it.

After that, I decided to do a bit of crocheting to calm myself down. And guess what. I bloody bought the bloody wrong bloody wool. Annoyed much? Yes, I was. And that's pretty much the story. I've decided I'm going to blame my mistake on the fact that I didn't get to watch Elf this year...even though I bought the wool before I found out about that...

So anyway, when I did finally get home, when I DIDN'T finally watch Elf, I went a-searchin' for my graphics tablet, as made famous by such timeless blogs as "The One About John Travolta Being a Catfish" and "I found a Photograph of Mr Whitehairblackbeard". Couldn't bloody well find it, could I? No I could not. In fairness, I didn't look all that hard - I was brushing my teeth at the time and thinking about all the antelopes who were dying, but it should have been in a fairly obvious place. I *think* I left it on a chair. But I can't be sure. If anyone has seen it, please return it to me immediately. It is greyish-black; charcoal you might say, and it has a pen of the same colour with a little white tip - that's what you do the drawings with.

Needless to say, I've been quite distressed. To calm myself down, I sat for one whole hour this evening, obsessively taking my laptop to bits and cleaning away all the dust with a paint brush.

And now I've upset myself even further looking at the above photograph of me that was taken just minutes ago. I'd better go and eat a novelty biscuit quickly to reverse the effect.


*Anyone reading this clearly falls into the bracket of "actually interesting". Please discount yourselves from this droplet of sarcasm that was added to further the horrible, cynical persona I'm crafting for myself upon the internet. Obviously I'm really nice and genuine in real life, just like every other person who writes a blog to make themselves feel better about the fact that their life is an endless drag from one moment to the next.

Spare A Thought

This morning I woke feeling distressed. It may just have been because it was so darn hot last night and my mouth was glued together with dehydration and I'd been haunted by repetitive dreams about not being where I need to be at the correct time and I was a little bit hungover. But I think it was really down to the fact that the only thought rushing through my mind was that everybody always forgets about chicken breasts. I felt terrible.



So I decided to declare this Sunday the day of BREAST. It's not really going to be so much different to any other Sunday, other than the extra 'B(ee)' I've tagged onto the ol' day of REST saying. You geddit? I don't.

I've been wondering lately if maybe I should give vegetarianism another go. But then I decided that it's probably okay to eat things like beef and pork, just as long as the meat isn't coming from baby animals, because big animals have had their time, right? They've seen the sunrise, they've felt the rain spatter on their thick skin, they've endured the sting of a wasp on the end of their milk-sweetened teat. Plus I was reading an article about the lambing season and nearly started to cry for all those bleating balls of delight I've eaten in the past. Verdict: I'm giving up lamb.

Other than this, peanut butter is rocking my world once again. Is there really anything finer than sleeping late on the weekend before rolling into the kitchen to indulge in a slice of toast smeared with that crunchy delight? I really do not believe there is.


*exit stage trapdoor*