HUNGER. (and other things.)
Winter has arrived. It was as if Autumn was never here. Last week I could walk around in a tshirt. This week it is fracking freezing. And with the return of the cold weather, I am thrown back into the state of perpetual hunger.
Please, Sir, I'd like some more.
This is going to be a pretty pointless post today, just my stream of consciousness which one mustache twitching Uchniat will tell you is more like the Delta of Nile than a stream. I have no linear thought process. Bear with me. (I can't even focus enough to decided if I've put down the right Bear. I think it is this one, amirite.)
I would like to catch a cold. (Let's forgo the masochistic comments for now.) I haven't had even the slightest hint of a cough for two years, though how this came to be when I am constantly shoving trash down my throat I have no idea. Point is. I've forgotten what it feels like to feel sick. (And karma will probably descend upon me like a cloud of locusts and infest me with the plague tomorrow. I wish.) And this is coming from a present state of mind that, shockingly, does not feel like dying omgplsritenow. Shocking, isn't it. I welcome insanity with open arms. (Okay, now I am starting to not make sense even to myself.)
Head hurts.
Walking to the bus stop tonight after a blessedly 'to standard' TP, (I swear if I get below standard one more time I will lose The Will To Live. Fine, maybe not that drastic but you get my drift. Symptoms will start to rear their head, blah-di blah, and curling up to die will sound more pleasing than hot chocolate fudge cake with zero calories. I am not seeking to be logically correct here.) I got asked directions (back to the mainstream, little boat) to a Japanese store. I knew the exact store they were looking for. I knew exactly where it is. (Disregarding that there is only one such store in the surrounding blocks but whatever.) My chest swelled up like a chicken breast in pride. The point is, (yes, there is one, I am getting to it,) the thing that at that moment, struck me like a tree trunk was familiarity, and I could finally pin the tail on the donkey's arse on what exactly it was that had me so reluctant to leave. I didn't want to lose my sense of familiarity; and with it, my placement in the cocoon that is ME, is MINE, where I knew and was known in return.
It is not the Parentals. It is the Air.
It is the air filled with the language that does not jar because you are so accustomed to its tones and cadences that it has become as background as white noise, and it covers you like a sheet of silk that is hardly felt. It is the air surrounding you with the smells of rust and long-dried urine mixed with alcohol and vomit while laced with roasted chestnut, greasy chips wrapped in newspaper and too much coffee. It is the air that clings to your skin with the Winter drizzle that just would not let up and you pray to the Powers That Be to please stop pissing on us mortals already, please, if You would be so kind.
It is the steam that vapourises when you speak. And so much more.
Which is why the fear of losing it all fills me with so much dread meds do not even begin to cover it. At all. Because it is not the Parentals; it is the air I breathe.
(use of tense here *points to above post* might not be that grammatically correct as it was Yesterday and is now Tomorrow (whut) and I cannot think straight.)
Please, Sir, I'd like some more.
This is going to be a pretty pointless post today, just my stream of consciousness which one mustache twitching Uchniat will tell you is more like the Delta of Nile than a stream. I have no linear thought process. Bear with me. (I can't even focus enough to decided if I've put down the right Bear. I think it is this one, amirite.)
I would like to catch a cold. (Let's forgo the masochistic comments for now.) I haven't had even the slightest hint of a cough for two years, though how this came to be when I am constantly shoving trash down my throat I have no idea. Point is. I've forgotten what it feels like to feel sick. (And karma will probably descend upon me like a cloud of locusts and infest me with the plague tomorrow. I wish.) And this is coming from a present state of mind that, shockingly, does not feel like dying omgplsritenow. Shocking, isn't it. I welcome insanity with open arms. (Okay, now I am starting to not make sense even to myself.)
Head hurts.
Walking to the bus stop tonight after a blessedly 'to standard' TP, (I swear if I get below standard one more time I will lose The Will To Live. Fine, maybe not that drastic but you get my drift. Symptoms will start to rear their head, blah-di blah, and curling up to die will sound more pleasing than hot chocolate fudge cake with zero calories. I am not seeking to be logically correct here.) I got asked directions (back to the mainstream, little boat) to a Japanese store. I knew the exact store they were looking for. I knew exactly where it is. (Disregarding that there is only one such store in the surrounding blocks but whatever.) My chest swelled up like a chicken breast in pride. The point is, (yes, there is one, I am getting to it,) the thing that at that moment, struck me like a tree trunk was familiarity, and I could finally pin the tail on the donkey's arse on what exactly it was that had me so reluctant to leave. I didn't want to lose my sense of familiarity; and with it, my placement in the cocoon that is ME, is MINE, where I knew and was known in return.
It is not the Parentals. It is the Air.
It is the air filled with the language that does not jar because you are so accustomed to its tones and cadences that it has become as background as white noise, and it covers you like a sheet of silk that is hardly felt. It is the air surrounding you with the smells of rust and long-dried urine mixed with alcohol and vomit while laced with roasted chestnut, greasy chips wrapped in newspaper and too much coffee. It is the air that clings to your skin with the Winter drizzle that just would not let up and you pray to the Powers That Be to please stop pissing on us mortals already, please, if You would be so kind.
It is the steam that vapourises when you speak. And so much more.
Which is why the fear of losing it all fills me with so much dread meds do not even begin to cover it. At all. Because it is not the Parentals; it is the air I breathe.
(use of tense here *points to above post* might not be that grammatically correct as it was Yesterday and is now Tomorrow (whut) and I cannot think straight.)