Unemployment

UNEMPLOYED DIARY FRIDAY (FRIDAYS ARE MEANINGLESS):

I've spent the morning customising denim jacket I own with a Sharpie. I've drawn a pretty baddass Public Enemy logo on the back panel and I'm colouring that bitch in now. There's a lot to colour in. I have a black sharpie with nib that's too thin for the task.

The fumes of a sharpie are potent - I'm starting to have what feels like a mild acid trip. 

I wonder what the sun looks like from the back?

UNEMPLOYED DIARY DAY-NURSE:

Awwww Fuck! I Forgot about Dre!!!!

UNEMPLOYED DIARY DAY LIKE ANY OTHER:

How long okay to spend looking at someone you kind of know's profile? 

How many months/ years is it okay to trawl back through photos of 'friends' looking for holiday snaps?

Is it ever okay to yell out, "Holy fuck-mouth they have weird looking kids! This little guy looks like a future murderer that will homosexually entrap men and then use power tools on the genitals, film it and make the victim watch the video while he hums the theme song the Archers in his blood soaked ear"...?

How many photos are too many to have pulled out of albums, doctored in photoshop and put onto Readers Wives websites - without changing the names?

How many people can you curse using special witchcraft software you downloaded from the corridors of the 'dark web'.

What's the best way to leave a public library computer streak free and devoid of DNA after a 'session?'

What day is it tomorrow?

UNEMPLOYED DIARY DAY AFTER DAY:

The following is a true story: Last night I had a dream that I was doing stand-up and all my jokes were about distance. My brain made up about five jokes about distance. Then that part of my set was over and I said: "Thanks for listening to my SHORT jokes about distance"...

I'm waiting for wife to leave home so I can yell at the TV and cry into her dressing gown.

UNEMPLOYED BLAH BLAH: 
My carrot consumption is through the roof. Also there is a spider in my fridge.


UNEMPLOYED DIARY DAY ENDING IN Y:

Fill the dishwasher. Empty the dishwasher. Fill the dishwasher. Empty the dishwasher. Repeat. This is both my actual life and also a metaphor for life: It's as If I was basketball legend 
Michael Jordan and I said to my friend whilst playing Hacky Sack (as Michael Jordan) - "Man you crazy! You aint beating me! I'm the Michael Jordan of Hacky Sack." Actuality and metaphor. As an object in ones life, the dishwasher is a maddening beast. It shows the passing of time and and the futility of our existence. Those are the two main things it shows and for the purposes of this post we'll keep the metaphor singular or else we'll get sprawling.

The dishes are clean. The dishes are dirty. The dishes are clean... dirty. Is life the dishes or is life happening to the dishes and is the dirt life and the soap death? And if that's the case am I simply watching life and death pass through my hands powerless to halt the inevitability of it and is my existence a mere function of the two ends of the spectrum? Am I just a conduit? A dirtier of the dish and a filler of the dishwasher. And what indignity. To be unable to enjoy the dirty IKEA plate of life because one is constantly having to think about the fact that, at some point, the plate is going to have to go into the dishwasher and you - me -we are the ones that will have to put it there.

Also it's super annoying how it BEEEP BEEEEP BEEEEP's at the end of every cycle.

UNEMPLOYED DIARY DAY...TIME:

In the cavemen days when cavemen had some time between jobs cavemen would put dow their cutting rocks and lie on their backs to look up at the sky and take some time to stare at the clouds. White and fluffy shapes against the immense blue heavens.

"That one look look like tree." One would say.
"That one look like Mammoth." One would say back.

"That one look look like other type of tree."
"That one look like smaller Mammoth."

"Tree..."
"Mammoth..."

I was just looking at the sky and I saw a Foosball table, a set of GHD hair straighteners, a stapler, a snow plough and the spitting image of Angelina Jolie's Asian kid - the one with the mohawk.

The cavemen days were simpler times.


UNEMPLOYED DIARY DAY 12:

My attention span is coming back. 

Years of trying to zone out of conversations about 'engagement' ideas and years of forcing myself to rifle through 100's of images on fffound and videos on Youtube to 'come up with' the next ad or hit-and-hope 'viral' has trained my brain to be cat-like. When I say cat-like the cat that it's like has been put into a room with some wolves, fireworks, toddlers and vacuum cleaners and the cat is now shitting and pissing everywhere as it runs up the walls trying to find somewhere safe to have a stroke and die.

But now my attention span is coming back and I love it.

Yesterday I read a recipe to the end before I started cooking instead of trying to guess how to make it from the picture - who knew pies had fillings? Before that I made it past 12 on a Buzzfeed top 20 list - they save the funniest one for last! And I'll tell you man-to man, my bum hole hasn't been this properly wiped since my mother was still doing it - in my teens.

(I've often been wiping and just stopped. Not because my sphinker was clean - just because I got distracted and a bit bored. It's not til the water runs brown in the shower later that you realise what a poor job you've done.)

Amazing.

Also FYI: Leaning over someones child in a park and saying, "Hello little girl. You have a pretty dress." in a South African accent can come across as creepy.

UNEMPLOYED DIARY DAY AFTER THE NIGHT:

This morning I woke up singing: 

"The only smell that could ever wake me - was the smell of the pizza van."

To the tune of Preacher Man by Aretha Franklin. 

I wish I could come up with awesome shit like that when I was awake.