Saturday, July 07, 2007

Couldntgiveafuckingmonkeystossness

I've always hated the phrase 'what doesn't kill you makes you stronger'. No it doesn't; what it does is leave you half dead, with either hideous physical injuries or a permanently damaged psyche. If I was a paraplegic wheelchair chair user left without the use of my legs as a result of a horrific car crash, I would have no hesitation in using a caliper to eviscerate anybody who tried to fob be off with such a stupid platitude.

I don't much care for physical pain, and I'm not overly fond of mental trauma either. Having said that, I must have higher natural levels of serotonin than the average Joe because I react with a higher level of couldntgiveafuckingmonkeystossness to most of the vicissitudes and dog turds that life flings at me with alarming frequency.

I don't really do depression. The closest I've ever come to popping my clogs was in my second year at University. I arrived a week late to discover that everybody else had sorted out their accommodation. I ended up sleeping on a sofa for two weeks before having to settle for a grotty bedsit in Cockroach Towers. I saw a friend off at the railway station one Thursday evening and felt my heart sink into the tarmac at the prospect of another night listening to the dickhead heavy metal loving engineering student next door shagging his uberugly tattooed love interest with gusto.

I went to a nightclub and got hog whimperingly drunk to dull the pain. I woke at lunchtime the next day to the battering on my door from the little weasel landlord. The greasy tosser demanded that I pay my rent money in his vile west country thicko accent. When he'd gone I sat on the bed and seriously contemplated suicide.

Thankfully the despair soon dissipated. Sweet and sour chicken with fried rice, prawn crackers, and a bottle of Lucozade saw to that.

8 comments:

pissoff said...

I just cry and that seems to solve things eventually.

The closest I came to doing myself in was when I was sharing a flat with my friend who was bonking her 1st cousin - yuk. Hare Kare seemed a better alternative than having to sleep next to that.

Yay... first.

garfer said...

1st cousins is legal.

I bet they end up with three eyed kids.

Betty said...

I think I just plod along at a low level of depression about everything, whatever circumstances I'm in. I should imagine that a lot of people are like me and are too apathetic to think of suicide. It takes a serious amount of concentration to get that depressed, and then to choose which method to use to kill yourself. Hanging, head in the oven, asphyxiation. Sod that, it's too much like hard work.

suburban wonder said...

If only they could bottle your insouciance. I'd take it an hour before every time I had to get blood drawn.

pissoff said...

1st cousins just isn't right. It would be like bonking a brother. Gawd, it's just not right.

THEN my mom & sister came to England to help me move home and they got to experience what hey were experiencing.... It was like we were involved too. I thought that was really thoughtful.

First Nations said...

envying your shiny neural connections popping and fizzing away there. mine require large doses of prozac and a hand crank in order to operate at all.

garfer said...

What you need is some amphetamine sulphate. That would really get your neurons buzzing.

funny thing said...

It was unfair of your landlord to expect you to pay, using his accent. Some people just aren't good at accents.
I, for example, always sound North Walean, even when attempting something simple, like Brummy...