'Stick around one minute more...
I'm smarter than you think:
Do I sound like an old bore?
Oh man, it's just the drink.
I didn't always hit the gin,
there were times when I'd fit in -
they'll never know how much I tried,
did I tell you my cat died?'
The sound of almost everyone you love telling you you're wrong, making a mistake - not an unfamiliar sound to me. It gets no easier each time you hear it, especially the times you really need them to bloody well take a thought to really listen to what you're saying. One of the problems of coming from a middle class family where 'failure' is a scent obscure and any mental ailment is dismissed as foreign, strange, and trivial. If depression came along with skin boils and hair-loss my life would be a lot easier. Or maybe I shouldn't have got so good at hiding it.
Only positive words in this post: things seem to be pretty much sorted with Kevin. He needs check-ups and such, monitoring, and recovery but apart from that let's hope it's all over.
So, today we found the cat dead on the front lawn because people seem to find it terribly difficult to drive at the speed limit, which I can understand really - those rules of the road are just put in place to stop people from having fun after all, and why the hell shouldn't they? And I sympathise with the fact that they didn't stop because they probably had to be somewhere and it wasn't their cat anyway. Oh, and my mum had her handbag snatched in Hempstead Valley car park, which is also understandable really - if you see a vulnerable old woman by herself with a trolley full of shopping why shouldn't a group of cowards steal her handbag? She obviously won't be able to chase after them, and she's probably confused so unlikely to act very quickly about the situation. Really she's just asking for it - being silly enough to go shopping for some dog food and some cake ingredients in the light of day.
You know what human race? You can just fuck off today. Just fuck fuck fuck off.
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