As I write today’s LOTTT I have Jeremy Kyle on the television and he’s yelling, as he does. Luckily the sound is muted. I can’t reach the remote control on account of my toe (minor surgery, nothing to worry about- OH GOD, THERE’S TENTACLES), so I am suffering with looking at his apathetic, holier-than-thou face for the next few minutes at least. I also have Facebook open, a habit more than anything else, and as each day passes am starting to feel more homicidal looking at pictures of your baby eating spaghetti (It really isn’t cute, it looks like a potato, all babies look like potatoes. Please stop uploading pictures of it.), status updates such as ‘I’m feeling really sick, but I’m going shopping laterzzz!’, and shared pictures, where for some reason clicking ‘like’ can cure cancer, and resolve murder mysteries.
There comes a time eventually when the mind breaks. Some will continue to upload pictures of their spaghetti-covered baby to Facebook whilst plotting a later magical unison betwixt bubble bath bubbles and toast-making devices. Others may choose to pull a knife from their wooden knife block and hunt down the creator of Facebook to end global misery once and for all. Lastly, others may choose instead to sit very quietly and feel time pulse through their own bodies in a fit of self-realisation, and majestic lifelessness- some listen to Thursday; personally this is the act which never fails to calm me and crush my soul like so many peachy peaches. Though I still can’t stand to look at your gross baby.
Stitch gets pulled out audibly, mothers fall down in their seat,
I can see time’s arrow turning back to me