A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Sit Ups

Like 975,000 others of my kind, my days are spent glued to a laptop effectively infertilising myself with the amount of time I spend with this machine on my lap. Technically I'm a freelance sound assistant, but in the eyes of the government and my mum, this lack of sustainable income translates as the less creative sounding 'unemployed'. Still, if the time I spend on the internet pretending to no one that I'm applying to all the jobs has taught me anything, it's that for every dark cloud of rejection there is a silver lining in the form of inspirational memes. I've mentioned them before but they seem to have exploded in number. Much like bunnehs. On a side note, who doesn't like bunnehs?

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They say if you look at this photo adoringly for long enough you cry tears made of rainbow diamonds and all conversations are conducted in song, like in the Disneyverse or that episode of Buffy.

 

Awwhh. Well I feel better. In any case I still have some of my favourite ever inspirational memes stashed away in a photo folder, just in case I become hardened to the sight of tiny fluffy smooshy BUNNEHS.

 

I truly hope that day never comes.

 

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Sometimes I do actually in a non sarcastic sense think on how I'm actually pretty lucky in having a place to stay. Because if I were to be maintaining the foolish impression that I could keep up with rent that 'someone' would be a rancid tramp who'd be trying to share his last splashback riddled bottle of White Lightning with me and I accept because I ran out of mouthwash. Sometimes it's the umm, little things.

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If that person is in fact wearing scaffy looking white boxers standing next to an unkempt and possibly stained looking not-quite-double bed, they're probably called Travis and you're in a motel. Travis is paying you $100 for the night and he's even splashing for the room. He's calling you an angel but he's also calling himself Daddy Bear. He probably has Dorito dust under his fingernails.

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I decided I didn't want to feel like a human anymore. I wanted to feel like a mermaid. I filled my pockets with boulders and walked into the ocean fully clothed, assuming that it'd be like the reverse of The Little Mermaid and would totally work as long as I sang about how I wanted to be where the fishies are. In hindsight it's lucky that I'm a strong swimmer because this was a horribly misjudged idea based on terrible advice.

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It's like that time I was late for the train because I'd left my lighter in the house and I was damned if I was paying for another one AGAIN. I got to the station as the train pulled up but I was still smoking so I let it get jogged on. I got the next train instead which didn't stop anywhere before town. I felt like I had been given the Gift Of Time, which I then squandered deciding which shade of red hair dye to spend my Boots Advantage points on before opting for the same one I always do.

 

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With all my time off I've been working on Plan X. I was inspired by the £3 copy of X Men: First Class I bought when I went to Tesco's to buy cigarettes and milkshake. I plan on putting a fork in the microwave so it explodes and sends nuclear waves into the kitchen and myself, giving me super cool radiation powers and qualifying me for a place in Magneto's gang. I've been practising stabbing Nazis in the hand and everything.