It will get better young padawan
Before we begin, a public service announcement
COULD I PLEASE DIRECT ALL FRIENDS AND FAMILY TO THE PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT OF A FEW DAYS AGO. I AM FINE, THIS IS FICTION. DO NOT WORRY.
And thus, I begin:
The sun is shining bright through my window: a bright bastard of a sun that puts glare right over my computer screen. There is a coffee stain on the desk that is annoying me. I should clean it up, but instead simply move the coaster over it. I should have used the coaster in the first place, but fuck that, I’m a rebel. A rebel without a coaster.
The sun is mocking me; not a gentle mockery, a tee hee hahaha, as if David Cameron has made a little slip of the tongue in parliament, said something that sounds a bit like ‘fanny’ or something. God no, it is mocking me full-scale. This is a real going over it’s giving me.
“Hey Sam, look at me.” It yells “Look at me. I bet you’d feel better if you were sitting outside, basking in my glorious warmth. But na, you’re just in your bedroom again, aren’t you? If you went to Regent’s Park today, you’d see some girls and you could eat some olives; you could use that Fortnum and Mason wine-cooler. But na. You’re at your desk again. What are you doing? Writing something? That’s a mugs game and no mistake. Write in a café, in a moleskine notebook like the prick you are.”
I hate that smug cockney bastard of a sun. Jesus Christ, the sun’s now a cockney to me. I need to leave this room again. Maybe get dressed.
I’ve changed my Facebook presence, made it look like I’m more together than I am. I’ve untagged all the photos of when I was a bit fatter, when my shirts bulged around a porky midriff; all examples of shirt buttons straining are now not connected to me. I have taken some arty shots of coffee I brewed, and have put the ‘warm’ filter on them, so it looks like I took the photos in the 60s. I am considering putting the coffee as my profile picture. I can look mysterious and arty at the same time. Girls will want to be me, boys will want to be with me. It’s the circle of life.
I don’t really want to change my handle though, not really. Some real time and effort put me in the place where I chose a good little pun and FUCK ME I AM STICKING WITH IT. I have a certain brand awareness to uphold. But still, despite this, my seeming togetherness, in truth I’m going bananas. I haven’t left my room for days, with that bastard of a sun outside, shining in. It is becoming effort to dress, or eat. My hipflask is empty, an emergency booze supply that I keep in my desk drawer. God knows when I emptied that. I won’t refill it now. The water in my glass has gone weird and bubbly.
Will I get to a time when I don’t see my friends’ lives emblazoned on the internet for all to see, their parties and their babies and their weddings and their champagne and their FUN FUN FUN and not feel jealous? Will there be a time when mental hygiene is not what I worry about, when I can start that drink and not feel the urge to go for days, spinning carelessly into oblivion, hoping my friends won’t catch me still drunk on a Sunday morning humming Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat to myself again, grinning inanely and still slightly blurry?
God, that coffee stain’s annoying me.
