An odd thing happened yesterday. I suddenly had Empire State Human pop into my head for no reason I could see. Perhaps the last time I'd been that miserable on that seat on that bus at that time of day at that set of lights was when the song was contemporary. Not to say I haven't been that miserable since i was a teenager, I have, but not that often, and not at that time and place.
Certainly people being mean to me, calling me names and not letting me play their reindeer games is disressing, but it's an outside irritant wheras this deep blue funk was numbing existential angst. I was so upset at my abuse yesterday that I'd just shut down, my entire sense of self destroyed. I didn't just have nothing to live for, I was nothing. I was a black hole, a void, useless, worthless, unammed and unnoticed.
I stumbled home in a daze, uncaring if cars tried to run me down, uncaring if the biscuits I provided weren't to the birds's liking, uncaring of what was on tv. I just went straight to my room and slept all night. Oblivion.
This morning began with Nigel for breakfast because I'd missed Relic Hunter last night, while my vcr watched Sports Night on my behalf. I can't tell you the plot of Relic Hunter because I was wandering in and out, but I hardly think that matters. Something about a stolen Egyptian cat statue and a gallery curator/fence who had a crush on Nigel.
While waiting for the bus the Noisy Mynahs herded a cat towards me to administer the coup de grace but I was still in no mood to move or react so I annoyed the birds by letting it get past me. No drama, the birds think I'm simple anyway.
Oh, my white fluffy clouds have turned heavy and grey. I'm at my window, trying to write another report as the one I worked on all weekend failed to satisfy, the boss now wanting things he never asked for, as per usual. Good luck, especially as my poor brain is so awash with hormonal chemicals that even the most basic monkey tasks are beyond me.
Oh, I have that song of Spike's stuck in my head. I recognised the first few notes, it's something we used to sing in the school choir. A week ago I wouldn't have remembered that.
Not that I sing any more. Or dance, or love or laugh or touch or any of the simple pleasures associated with being human. I'm not even allowed to cry, but I do in private.
My blue skies are all grey now. It's much colder and me with my stupid shoes on. I'm sure there's a proper name for these type of shoes but fashion doesn't care about me so I don't care about it. My feet are cold, my hands are cold and my brain has left the building.
Oh well. In other news I just realised my next M7 story I'm going to try and wrap up, the one with the most horrid act in it, is actually based on my life afterall. Yep, I'm lucky enough to boast friends good enough to shag my boyfriend on the day of my father's funeral. You should be so lucky to know such people. Just to explain why people do what they do in my next fic, or to put it more simply: people are selfish and mean and on occasion very cruel, taking advantage of weakness and opportunity. Welcome to the jungle.
My current fic is still Magnificent Seven as Dawsons Creek. It actually fits, and that's the scary part, though if you follow that analogy that means the soul mates haven't ....no, that couldn't be, surely not. Well, maybe, eventually. Though, more realistically, like hell. To quote the Vogon Captain: I don't see why any one else should have a good time.
And people wonder why I use Havisham as a nickname.
I probably shouldn't start singing here we go, here we go, here we go when my you know whats start, but it started off with here we go and devolved from that. Well, my Dad was British and I do know several football songs, most not bearing repeating in polite company, and well, it's been such a miserable few weeks for me and i just want the whole thing over and done with so I can have mu couple of day's respirte. Of course I'm going to have to work through it, rather than my preferred method of going to bed and waking up three days later, so I know, right now, I'm up for another entire month of absolute agony. Joy. I'm in so much pain I can barely sit up in a chair, and it hasn't even begun to start yet, this is merely the orchestra warming up in the pit, the prelude and overture have yet to come before the big Wagnerian production, and it ain't over until the fat lady screams. On top of all this I've reports to write and dishes to wash and lawns to mow and...