I’m so sick! Sick and tired! I want no more of all the exasperation that surrounds me. Missed opportunities, degrading thoughts, lurking failure, fuck-ups and fake-ups, name-calling, misplaced and misleading emotions, set standards, missed expectations. I’ve had enough.
That everywhere I go, every corner I turn, there is that lurking devil trying to tear my sanity to tiny meaningless shreds. Throwing all these curveballs at me, and I, with only my young fickle mind for a bat, stand helpless, the balls hitting me and eating into my flesh. Each hit more painful than the next, seeming to pick out all my vulnerabilities and hitting that virtual bull’s-eye.
I would prefer a Javelin missile or an M-16 assault rifle but all I have for a weapon is my brain. But since when did my thoughts become weapons, or even the extensive curse-word library that British TV has (regrettably) helped me cultivate. And so day by day, I scratch at my apparently already-balding skull, having no mercy for the remaining strands of hair (C’mon, we all know the big-shots are always bald! Forget Trump and Bustin Jeiber…and the weave-wearing Rooney) I scratch, because maybe even this self-inflicted agony might take away all the hurt that builds up in me.
And I fear for you. Yes YOU! Stay away. Far away! This isn’t a horror movie, but it could as well be the basis for a future Martin Scorsese-directed one, the ‘based on a true story’ type, you know. I may not be myself within the near future, losing control, going against the grain. Not giving a f*ck! I already warned you. I’m sorry for whatever I may do. Actually I’m not. Who am I kidding? I just said I don’t give a….
I may fling my random clueless emotions into the air. Ignore them. A simple mind is allowed such vanity once in a while. Be gone with these vain hassles that trouble a young man’s life. But when my sanity returns to this beloved cranial home of its own, the phoenix shall rise again.
I’m still even more clueless than before though!