There was movement at the station…

For the word had passed around,

That the silly cunt’s regrets got in the way,

And with wild self-accusations, he had got up off the ground

And decided it was time to be awake.

It’s a strange fact of life, that you can never tell someone else what they need. A man ain’t never gonna quit smoking, for example, until he decides he wants to… and no amount of telling him what it’s doing to him, or how good you feel for having done so yourself… blah blah blah.

But how does this phenomenon relate to telling oneself something? How many times have I told myself that I really ought to stop smoking so much ganja? How many times have I related, within the bounds of me own head, how it has felt in the past to cut back a bit or, shocked and stunned, stop altogether?… for a while, let’s not get carried away here. And ask the same question, why don’t I, about the amount of exercise I do, the diet I engage in, etcetera etcetera?

I mean am I actually convincing myself of the benefits of these impositions of will power? Is it even necessary to answer this question, given the facts of my existence for the last… forever? At any rate, I was at work the other day, and was in a feral mood – not itself an unknown thing, but usually my foulness is reserved for when I feel I have been bent over my desk by (one or more of) my bosses and been given it (see Human Traffic, if you want a more graphic and highly fucking amusing interpretation of this little scenario).

My caustic emotional state on this particular day was, however, directed at my co-monkeys… er… workers… er… no… monkeys. Really. And definitely monkeys rather than apes – a distinction best illustrated by the results of monkeys and apes in front of a mirror. Now an ape will realise, rather quickly, that they are looking at themselves – upon which they begin to preen, make silly(er) faces and generally enjoy how great they are. (Thinking about this, I can’t but wondering if there wouldn’t be a whole glut fewer wankers on the planet if we took away everyone’s mirrors). So monkeys on the other hand, and without exception, will always fail to recognise that they are not in fact at another monkey, and will repeatedly attack the mirror, or try to fuck it, and so on. So, come on into Real Foods and enjoy yourselves folks. And don’t forget your mirrors – for a good dry humping beside the muesli sacks.

Anyway, as Billy would say, I have detracted somewhat from the dogs. The point being, that the muppetry of the floor staff was really getting on my tits. And in a fashion dissimilar to usual. They are always somewhat of a pain in the arse, and a good at very little besides creating mountains out of mole hills – not to mention all that bonus work for those of us who habitually fix the problems they cause. But one usually manages to merely shake an amused, bemused, head in their direction – with an appropriate dose of superiority, of course.

At some point I managed to take a step back from myself, pondering the possibility that I was overreacting. I mean, I was seriously fucking angry here kids. Well… go on… say it… “I could have told you why three bloody paragraphs ago”… yeah no shit, but that wouldn’t have given me the opportunity to have a little rant about suffering fools no would it? No doubt you already know what’s coming next as well, so really, there’s not much point in going on.

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~ by Gethin A. Lynes on June 23rd, 2008.

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