Sleeping with the enemy…

Sometimes I feel like I am living inside someone else, or is it that someone else is living inside of me?  Hmmm…  I’ll have to really think about that one…

 Either way I feel like I am being carried around in this annoying vessel.  I am just shocked by what I can see out the window.   This morning for example, I awoke to a bedroom full of cups, saucers – no not saucers, I don’t use saucers, who the hell uses saucers these days?  ’tis far from saucers I was brought up – plates, knives, forks, glasses… 

I woke up to a science project that is the take away food I had a few nights ago and passed out before it got polished off, there it was, dangling from the top of my tv, surrounded by a mountain of dirty clothes.  Imagine the scenery!  I mean, would ya not clean up after yourself!?  I don’t want to be living in such squalor.  Not a single item of clothing was washed this weekend, no food bought- I spent about £7 on fruit last week, never eaten, they’re deflated and soggy and practically talking to me down in the kitchen as we speak…I’m just catapulted into the week without any preparation – well needless to say, civil war broke out this morning, me against you pal.  I’ve had it. I dwell inside this person who insists on giving me a bad name.  I’ve been dragged through the streets of London at all hours of the night. 

I didn’t really want to drink this weekend, but I didn’t have a choice it seems.  I went for what I was told "a social one" and another that I was told was "ah, one for the road".  This took place on an empty stomach.  I was starving.  So I got thrown a Burger King Fish Burger (Shock! Horror!) on the way home rushing through London Bridge Station…  I hate Burger King and every thing it stands for.  I scoffed it so quickly.  I literally opened my mouth and stuffed the entire thing down my oesophagus, had to sit down on a bench when I got to the other side and sort of stretch my stomach out flat so that it would pass, must have looked like I was having a heart attack.  I think it was indigestion. I am so frustrated that I didn’t get to do the things I wanted to do this weekend.  I wanted to read books, I wanted to paint, I wanted to write, I wanted to watch inspiring films, I wanted to buy the Sunday newspapers and sit in a coffee shop and read them over a cappuccino, I wanted to go for a nice long walk on Hampstead Heath. 

 

I should have at least done my laundry. 

I mean, who the hell is this person?