Delete the Red Button

15.11.14 (Day 327); 16.11.14 (Day 328)… interminable.

09.42, 12.42, 15.42, 18.42, 21.42… interminable.

I wish I was awake. Less tired. Less paranoid.

A day in the life. With only a shared wife. Thoughts as they occur…

Three hours into my day and none into that of others. The deafening silence has been interrupted by the sound of Pringles being eaten. As a breakfast snack. By me.

A two minute silence was observed here in the kitchen for my dear departed friend Nigel. Or rather it was, then a dog started barking. It has a cough. It was killed (the silence).

Cancer killed my friend. The silence is killing me. He was a colourful character, comparable to me: very intelligent, vocal and more than a bit camp. He was gay – in all senses of the word – and I’ve had to sleep in a tent on more than one occasion. We drank together. Often it was too much.

Surrounded by beings of lesser intelligence. And the atmosphere. Toss pots in our pub. Fucking females. Fucking hormones. The attitudes: if you have a problem with us, have the front to face up to us and face off. I’ll do an impression: I’ll take your face off. Such was life and as such it remains with me. Picking up the pieces, cleaning up after people, cleaning up actual people. Always tidying up after everyone. Fucking lazy cunts who can’t be bothered to get up until after I’ve done half a working day. And only then because they need to eat. The life which was. Life in the fast lane. Life as it is. Life broken down on the hard shoulder. Broad shoulders. Cold shoulders.

Always more dangerous the more I drink. More vocal. My mouth gets me into trouble. Trouble and death follow me wherever I go and make me unwelcome. As was one of my many ex-fiances and mother to my stillborn daughter, whose whereabouts I don’t know. As dangerous as she was gorgeous. Add that to life in general at the moment and you may get some idea of what I’m going through. Then run away. Part of my life always trying to build a business, while others just swamp and feed their faces, thinking I’m doing nothing other than enjoying life in a positive rut which I’ve created for myself. The ones who fed me but who I cared for. I show my teeth but won’t bite the hands that feed me. Most holes I dig for myself, I can get out of. Others can’t. The dead ones. In a better place now.

I wonder how many knew that my stillborn daughter was incinerated as medical waste because the mum couldn’t bring herself to face the funeral of a child? They do now.

Playing games.

Bad losers. Those who envy me my intelligence and competitive nature. I play to win.

Now a nightmare. Children in Need. I have many. I want to sleep. With them.

I’m due to meet the ex-wife and the kids on – of all dates – 6th December: our wedding anniversary. How ironic.

Working on the business and Revealing Our Sauces:

My love affair with Little Blue grows deeper. Like a lap dog but not as annoying but a bit overloaded. Just now we read this:

Three friends buried or burned today. A daughter I never saw incinerated with the rest of the NHS waste.

My poisoned, infected, inflective, infectious mouth needs to be sown shut before I scream. We’re watching Children in Need. I can’t see my own kids. Both have been in hospital, as has their daddy. Rub salt into the wounds. This is like facing things and people I despise. So insensitive; so unsympathetic; so callous; so cruel; so ignorant. Think before you speak or act. I do and it hurts. Fuck Children in Need. I’m a living CAPS LOCK key.

But being me, I thought then acted: I had a fiver left in my bank account, so I donated it. Not much but all I had. How much did you donate?

I’ve had to leave the room. I can’t stand it.

I can’t wait till bedtime. Maybe a rare early night and a chance to sleep. I doubt that: too much in my overactive mind. But the torture will continue.

I need the blue lights. Whether they’re on the top of jam sandwich or ice cream van, I don’t care. I need to be taken away.

So ends another day. Welcome to my world.

I don’t want to live today again: delete the red button.

Pull the trigger to delete.

Captain’s log supplemental: we bid Nigel farewell yesterday: he was wearing an orange NASA space suit and went to the sound of Lola by The Kinks. Farewell spaceman xxx