Today has been remarkably shit. In fact, there may not even be the words to describe how shit today has been. I'm not sure if I've had shittier days than this, and my school friends, and I emphasise that these were friends, once decided to have a "be a bastard to Ashley day", which was probably, looking back on it, better than today.
There has been one beacon of not-being-shittiness in this mire of manure, and that was the section of my life which began with getting on my bike in Reading to go to London, doing what I had to do in London, and then getting as far as Paddington station on the way home. Some tosser of a station attendant whinging at me to get off my bike (in a deserted station!) soon knocked the shine off the fun I'd had in London and put the shit firmly in the centre of my life which today had been excelling at achieving previously and, indeed, afterwards.
The day kicked off to a weird start where I appeared to lose an hour during my waking up phase. I was convinced it had just been 7am, and then my clock was telling me it was 8.30. Turns out, my clock was wrong. It was an hour fast. I was confused. I listened to the blaring of the radio and the newsreader was saying it was before 8. I looked at my mobile phone and it read before 8. What had happened? I concluded that the clocks had gone back and my phone had automatically adjusted.
This theory was blown out of the water when I got to work and was told that the clocks change in October.
There's no answer - except that I probably just changed the time by accident myself.
The day has been a catalogue of running between meetings, feeling like life should have something more in it, feeling like I've lost something rather important and there's no getting it back, and feeling like my body is not my own.
A later weight check suggested that 6 missing pounds of weight might be the problem. I don't know whether to believe the scales. I'll know more when I next get weighed. However, if I have shed the better part of half a stone this week, then that explains why my clothes don't fit, my body feels so worn out, and I'm not feeling myself.
What if it was all the fat that made me so jolly? What if, in fact, I'm powered on excess body mass? What would I rather be? Wiry and miserable, or short-lived, wobbly, but happy. Would I be prepared to sacrifice myself to the vagaries of diabetes, heart failure and cholesterol problems, just so I could be cheerful?
I've no idea.
What I do know is that today has been shit. Really really shit. If tomorrow wants to come and have a go if it thinks it's hard enough, it's going to have to go a long way to do better than today, which I have survived. Maybe tomorrow isn't as hard as today, but perhaps today has softened me up. Maybe I'll find tomorrow to be shitter than it really is as a direct result of having found today so shit. Or maybe I've been toughened up. Maybe it will take some pretty tough shit to get under my skin tomorrow.
I don't want shit under my skin. It's bad enough when it gets under your nails.
All I'm saying is. I didn't like today. There's a busy week ahead, with one valve-day (tomorrow) and, quite frankly, I'm dreading it. Thank you life. Thank you world. Sorry about the lack of jauntiness, but perhaps the belly full of Tesco I'm currently feeling overstuffed with, may bring me back along the belt enough to smile.
Not that my face is really built for frowning. Even when I try to look serious, the corners of my mouth face upwards. So cheerful, so jaunty, so shit.
There has been one beacon of not-being-shittiness in this mire of manure, and that was the section of my life which began with getting on my bike in Reading to go to London, doing what I had to do in London, and then getting as far as Paddington station on the way home. Some tosser of a station attendant whinging at me to get off my bike (in a deserted station!) soon knocked the shine off the fun I'd had in London and put the shit firmly in the centre of my life which today had been excelling at achieving previously and, indeed, afterwards.
The day kicked off to a weird start where I appeared to lose an hour during my waking up phase. I was convinced it had just been 7am, and then my clock was telling me it was 8.30. Turns out, my clock was wrong. It was an hour fast. I was confused. I listened to the blaring of the radio and the newsreader was saying it was before 8. I looked at my mobile phone and it read before 8. What had happened? I concluded that the clocks had gone back and my phone had automatically adjusted.
This theory was blown out of the water when I got to work and was told that the clocks change in October.
There's no answer - except that I probably just changed the time by accident myself.
The day has been a catalogue of running between meetings, feeling like life should have something more in it, feeling like I've lost something rather important and there's no getting it back, and feeling like my body is not my own.
A later weight check suggested that 6 missing pounds of weight might be the problem. I don't know whether to believe the scales. I'll know more when I next get weighed. However, if I have shed the better part of half a stone this week, then that explains why my clothes don't fit, my body feels so worn out, and I'm not feeling myself.
What if it was all the fat that made me so jolly? What if, in fact, I'm powered on excess body mass? What would I rather be? Wiry and miserable, or short-lived, wobbly, but happy. Would I be prepared to sacrifice myself to the vagaries of diabetes, heart failure and cholesterol problems, just so I could be cheerful?
I've no idea.
What I do know is that today has been shit. Really really shit. If tomorrow wants to come and have a go if it thinks it's hard enough, it's going to have to go a long way to do better than today, which I have survived. Maybe tomorrow isn't as hard as today, but perhaps today has softened me up. Maybe I'll find tomorrow to be shitter than it really is as a direct result of having found today so shit. Or maybe I've been toughened up. Maybe it will take some pretty tough shit to get under my skin tomorrow.
I don't want shit under my skin. It's bad enough when it gets under your nails.
All I'm saying is. I didn't like today. There's a busy week ahead, with one valve-day (tomorrow) and, quite frankly, I'm dreading it. Thank you life. Thank you world. Sorry about the lack of jauntiness, but perhaps the belly full of Tesco I'm currently feeling overstuffed with, may bring me back along the belt enough to smile.
Not that my face is really built for frowning. Even when I try to look serious, the corners of my mouth face upwards. So cheerful, so jaunty, so shit.
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