Drown'd

Back again with an exciting update on my current predicament!

I'm not trapped down a burning well or anything. But I do still exist. And as long as I exist, my status needs to be shouted from the rooftops.

My ladder-stealing skills are so good, they need to be shouted from the rooftops.

Hmm. That was almost a good joke. It was like I saw a joke in my peripheral vision, but when I looked at it, it turned out to be a cat eating a harmonica.

Mood: Bored, but reasonably satisfied.

Listening to: I've had this song stuck in my head all day:



(Actually, I have the acoustic version in my head. It's important you know exactly which version I have in my head.)

It is annoying. Like a flatmate who has outstayed their welcome. I enjoyed spending time with you, but that was weeks ago. And now we've got no clean mugs or plates and your dickhead indie friends are getting on my wick.

I've also been listening to my playlist about the five senses. It's not one of my best, but can be heard here:

http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/playlist/Sick+Sense/38779203

Unlike Spotify, you don't need to download anything, so feel free to see which songs I chose to represent smell. You'll be somewhere between unimpressed and impressed.

Nimpressed.

Reading: Still nothing. I should read something quickly so I don't sound so ill-educated.

Maybe I should quickly read something now.

Hmm. It's a post-it from a colleague with the Samaritans' phone number on it.

I don't quite know how to take that.

Watching: I watched two episodes of the 1981 Spider-Man cartoon yesterday. Yes, the 1981 one. No, not Spider-Man and his Amazing Friends, which also started in 1981. The solo series. No not the one with the famous theme song. That was 1967.

No, I haven't had many girlfriends. You're right.

Playing: I'm playing a game where the first person to topple into a canal wins a towel.

Eating: I just had roast beef and trimmings from the work canteen. It was a special deal for £3. It had horseradish sauce. I love horseradish sauce. But I went a bit overboard, ladling gallon after gallon onto my plate. Now I feel FANTASTIC.

(Is that really how you spell ladling?)

I've got a horseradish high. They should sell horseradish in clubs. They should use it to wean heroin addicts. "Get off the horse, and get on its radish," some people might say one day, as I press a gun into the small of their back.

Drinking: Horseradish.

***

We got the bus in today. We did yesterday too.

It was raining, and walking seemed like a mug's game. Though a mug would collect the rain water, getting heavier and heavier, jeopardising its own progress.

We walk to and from work pretty much every day. It's just a bit too long. Just a bit.

It's not so bad on the way in, but on the way home it becomes a struggle. Around fifteen minutes from home, the boredom and fatigue kick in.

According to Google maps, it's 2.4 miles each way.

So we do about 5 miles a day.

Which is a bit too long.

4.4 miles would be fine. We'd be skipping. We'd be picking flowers and frolicking.

But 5 miles is too much.

Which is why the bus can be tempting, especially if its cold and the street is paved with mugs full of rain.

Luckily my dislike of people outweighs my dislike of moving. So I'd rather walk than be in a confined space with the kinds of loser that regularly travel by bus.

I'm more likely to take the bus in the morning. Lucy is more likely to take it in the afternoon.

That's why we get on so well. We compliment each other perfectly.

At this point, you might be thinking: "That's interesting, Paul. No. It's not. I'm just being polite. And as I'm only thinking this, there's no need to differentiate between different levels of discourse, you TWAT."

You might also be thinking: "You've just written things. You don't seem to be going anywhere, or making any kind of point. I imagine there won't be a satisfactory conclusion to this story."

Well if you are thinking that, get ready!

We got the bus this morning, and it was quite empty and quiet. It was nice.

HOW ABOUT THAT!?!

IT WAS NICE!

THAT'S A KILLER RESOLUTION!!

"Are you now going to do a hilarious bit about serial killers' new year's resolutions, you predictable failure?"

No. I'm not.

I'm not sure I like the conflict of this pseudo-dialogue. Let's be friends.

"OK. I'm sorry."

That's fine. We're all friends here.

But now I don't know how to end this post.

"Why don't you bring up the rain-filled mug again?"

Yeah, I guess...

"Ooh, ooh, how about the canal thing?"

Yeah! Good idea! But how do I...

*SPLASH*

*TOWEL*