Archive for August 2010
Do you ever have to physically hold your breath and really, really concentrate just to shut out all the babble going round your head and achieve just five single seconds of pure silence when you’re lying in bed at night?
No? Well I do. I’d like to think it means I’m hyper intelligent and just have so many complex and profound thoughts rushing around my brain that it gets crowded in there. But much of the time it’s lyrics. Inane lyrics to some inane tune playing over and over again like the most annoying noisy neighbour you’ve ever had, who lives inside your head and won’t shut the hell up.
It’s fairly annoying.
But anyway, now that we’ve established I am quite clearly insane, on to other topics.
I haven’t blogged for a while for a variety of reasons. The main one being that I moved house about a month and a half ago and took a while getting the internet sorted, the other one being that I couldn’t be arsed.
My new landlord is an interesting fellow. In introducing ‘house rules’ to me, he confided that he knew ‘ladies like to put things down the toilet’ but would I not because it can cause blockage of the drains.
So I’ve been putting my shit into Tesco’s carrier bags since I moved in. Hopefully this will avoid aforementioned blockage problems.
He also has a tendency to ignore my text messages, every single bloody time I text him. So, being me, I text him very often just to be as irritating as possible. He’ll learn. To clarify, I’m not texting him anything personal or conversational. More stuff along the lines of: “Can I get a water meter fitted”, “My key doesn’t work” and “Where would you like these Tesco’s bags full of shit?”
I’m now living in a bedsit on my own, which, being a fairly neurotic and easily irritable individual, suits me just fine. I can have people round as much as I like but keep the place exactly as I want it. Perfect. Although I fear this may lead to me becoming even more unreasonable and set in my ways. The thought of someone else making themselves a cup of tea in my kitchenette (to call it a kitchen would be a lie) unnerves me slightly, but then washing up after themselves? No, no, no. I know you mean well my friends, but, trust me, you are not helping.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not actually suffering from OCD. I don’t think that my family will die or my house will set alight if I don’t flick the light bulb on twelve times and lock the door whilst patting my head and rubbing my stomach in a circular motion before I leave the house. It’s just BETTER to have everything in its own special place; all the glasses and plates and tins of soup nice and neat and tidy, where I can sit and stare at them for hours on end.
It’s dawned on me that this blog post reads a little like a desperate cry for help from a mentally ill person. So far I’ve revealed I hear voices in my head, I keep my shit in Tesco’s bags, and I like to sit and stare at the perfectly neat rows of crockery and groceries in my house.
Thankfully only two of those things are true. I shop at Sainsbury’s.
P.S. Regarding the title of this blog post: anyone who actually uses that phrase in a non-ironic manner, including when substituting the word ‘live’ with ‘work’, deserves a massive slap up the nose with a sweaty kebab. People who announce that they are ‘mad’, ‘wacky’ or ‘crazy’ are invariably not. They are in fact deluded, boring, irritating, insecure and probably quite stupid individuals, best to be avoided at all costs.