A Late Night Sleep Deprived Rambling

Everytime I step back and take a look at my life I feel like I’m standing on a precipice. Something important is always ‘destined’ to happen after I’ve taken those 5 minutes out to criticise myself. I’ll get a haircut, go on a diet, job seek, knuckle down, work on End of the Road or maybe even get a shower.

But I never change.

I’ve looked back at my life in the past decade, I’ve barely changed. Same puppy fat, same dimples, same chins, same untameable hair. Even the same irritating voice, I thought puberty was gonna take care of that! Then I look forward and see…tumbleweed, obscured by a veil of uncertainty, being played out on a stage made out of soggy tissue paper.

I’ve been in love twice, once with an Angel, and once with a Devil. At one point the two even coincided. The smart me would’ve ignored the Devil completely. But if I was smart I wouldn’t be human. Love is certainly powerful emotion, and I don’t mean that in the Disney sense of the term. It can bring great happiness, yet also tear you apart. You can believe the songs, and swallow the ending of Spiderman 3, which tell you love is at it’s most powerful when shared between two people. They’re wrong. Love is at its most powerful when it’s ignored. Unrequited. Spurned.

That’s when love starts getting ugly.

I’ve survived a lot. A lot has moulded me into the misshapen beast currently mashing this into the keyboard today. People aren’t born with damaged personalities. They are earned. Like gold stars in Infant School. And by Jeebus have I earned mine.

And so it is with a heavy sense of irony I’ve come to realised that the final nail in the coffin is not the pursing of lips or the swaying of hips. Not even broken promises or the twisting of knives. It’s something much more insidious…

I’ve been in a weird frame of mind recently. I’ve felt like a detective piecing together the evidence for his greatest case, which has led me to over analyse anything to cross my path. Why? I’m not too sure. This too is a part of the mystery.

An example would be a house on the way to my life. Every time I pass it I see the same window. It’s small. Way too small to serve any real purpose and it looks as though it’s not been cleaned in the past millennium. And yet no matter what time of day, be it dinner time or half two in the morning, the curtain is always open. It has intrigued me for the past month. What is the sweet old lady who lives there keep in that room? Why doesn’t she clean the window or draw the curtains?

But I digress.

I’ve been skating around this encroaching issue like a large piece of lint circling the drain. It’s a habit I’ve got, which I’m slowly turning into an artform. Maybe I should become a politician.

All material contained within this clog is produced from the mind of a sleep deprived fool who has no idea what he's talking about. If you find any offence/disturbance/unease in this piece...write an angry letter and send it to whoever our latest Overlord is to be.