Would ya look at the time!
A few days can pass us by in a rather unexpected and plausibly accurate flash, can they not? I would normally fill the next few sentences to bursting with excuses piled on reasons, stuffed with accusations and maybe even a red ripe rant on top. But I shan't. For I am sick to near vomitous regurgitation (note the wonderfuly superfluous adverb) with my inane babblings about the state of my own life and how amazingly, and without apparent training, I have absolutely no control over it.
So I shall instead babble about what is happening in my life without the accustomed tirade on the almost spiteful neutrality that fate, destiny, people, the world, and small mammals have towards me.
For the last couple of days I have been hopping, if not skipping, between abodes. For you see, I am homeless. Not shopping cart, hand scrawled pleas on cardboard, shouting at strangers kind of homeless (although I must admit to shouting at a few strangers in my time) but not far off. A famous person (so famous, in fact, that I don't know who it was) once said that any civilised society is only three square meals from rebellion. I shall now try and be forgotten by some future blogger by adding my own quote to the fray.
"Any person with a home is only two arguments and one hefty bill from being without one."
This is not actually how it came about for me, but the logic of it seems plausible. So I find myself adrift in the world. Not that I am without lodgings. Far from it. I have a wonderfully generous family and a fantastic girly so I will always have a roof over my head and a snuggly blanket (if not said girly) to cling to on those muggy summer nights. But the thing of it is, the strange feeling of dislocation, that intangible feeling of not quite being able to "get it together", as there is no steady location in which to stand and gather said things. I think it may be the deep down feeling that, should everything go pear shaped with the loved ones, that there is no place to go to lick one's wounds, sulk, watch TV till four in the morning, smack yourself for being an idiot and then go back and apologise. No siree, straight to the merry aforementioned streets for young tit head.
Do not collect $200.
Do collect your complimentary shopping cart.
Do collect your free cardboard and marker.
And we see, sir, that you have the shouting at strangers down pat.
Luckily, I'm not the worrying type.
So I shall instead babble about what is happening in my life without the accustomed tirade on the almost spiteful neutrality that fate, destiny, people, the world, and small mammals have towards me.
For the last couple of days I have been hopping, if not skipping, between abodes. For you see, I am homeless. Not shopping cart, hand scrawled pleas on cardboard, shouting at strangers kind of homeless (although I must admit to shouting at a few strangers in my time) but not far off. A famous person (so famous, in fact, that I don't know who it was) once said that any civilised society is only three square meals from rebellion. I shall now try and be forgotten by some future blogger by adding my own quote to the fray.
"Any person with a home is only two arguments and one hefty bill from being without one."
This is not actually how it came about for me, but the logic of it seems plausible. So I find myself adrift in the world. Not that I am without lodgings. Far from it. I have a wonderfully generous family and a fantastic girly so I will always have a roof over my head and a snuggly blanket (if not said girly) to cling to on those muggy summer nights. But the thing of it is, the strange feeling of dislocation, that intangible feeling of not quite being able to "get it together", as there is no steady location in which to stand and gather said things. I think it may be the deep down feeling that, should everything go pear shaped with the loved ones, that there is no place to go to lick one's wounds, sulk, watch TV till four in the morning, smack yourself for being an idiot and then go back and apologise. No siree, straight to the merry aforementioned streets for young tit head.
Do not collect $200.
Do collect your complimentary shopping cart.
Do collect your free cardboard and marker.
And we see, sir, that you have the shouting at strangers down pat.
Luckily, I'm not the worrying type.
posted by Tobbë | 9:35 PM
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