Monday, 7 November 2011

Foul Monday

I sometimes feel possessed. Maybe I'm schizoid? I'm aware of at least two selves residing inside this 62 year old, sometimes svelte, sometimes decrepit (It depends on who "I" am at the time) shell. At the moment, it's the latter. I'm a curmudgeonly, cantankerous old cunt.

Today, I'll be mostly fantasising about flamethrowers. My flamethrower. I've decided to indulge my extreme irritation by striking out, as least in my my mind, at the world. I'm cultivating reveries of slaughter.

As an aperitif, prior to my first dose of caffeine, I'll be engaged with mental burning of fellow passengers on the cross-city line - carnage on the quarter to eight! Well... they're so invasive... a chap needs a little room in the morning, especially on Mondays.

That's how it is. I'm changeable. And tomorrow... who knows? Maybe I'll blog about the autumnal and wintry changes taking place in my back garden. We're so privileged in witnessing the sad, but beautiful, decomposition of life. Or instead, I might take time to tell you of my dog, gentle Ruby. I could cry with joy just thinking of her. But until then...

I'd like to give one or two work colleagues a squirt. Just a couple of quick bursts... in their faces... It's what I want.

I still feel irritable though. It's not like having sex, which culminates in glorious release. Indulging one's ill-feelings, even in fantasy, is ultimately futile. I know that. Yet I still want to squirt the fuckers.

Don Swift. Keeping it real.


Michelle said...

Well ya know, we all have stuff we like, stuff we don't like, stuff we feel somewhere in between about, other stuff that effects how we deal with that stuff.. and sometimes just a general mood that doesn't seem to be there for any reason except for it is. So yeah.. pretty typical.

Sari said...

I'd really like a flamethrower.

Ha, the word verification can't spell. It's 'buning'. I'm pretty sure it should say 'burning'.