How to ruin your life; a diary

Monday

4.AM ... I’d been at the laptop for nearly twenty hours trying to construct the perfect covering letter. I was applying for an intern position at a magazine based in Manchester.

It would have been impossible to sleep naturally at this point with all the stimulants prickling my brain, so I downed a bag of Valerian root to knock me out. In that curious state between wakefulness and chemical slumber I began having very convincing delusions of what constituted a good idea. So much so that I deleted my covering letter and instead simply emailed the magazine’s editor this monstrosity:

Hey amigo! It’s Steve, do you remember? We met at that party last week? Do you remember? You were completely out of your mind on cheap vodka and high strength speed. You were speaking in tongues at one point! I wouldn’t be surprised if you don’t remember a single word of this. Man, you are crazy. Don’t worry I didn’t upload any of those photos of you to facebook, your wife would shit a brick!

Anyway, do you remember telling me to email you about that intern position that you promised me? Maybe not. Maybe it didn’t happen. Maybe I made it all up to get your attention.   Maybe I just had a vision of all this. I’m a man who does not ignore visions. Neither should you. This is why you should give me the position... immediately...

Yours hopefully?

FUCK.

Tuesday

1 P.M ... to halt the boredom of unemployment, i attempt to trim the hair off my balls. I decide to go in with an electric trimmer. Sadly the sloppy skin of my scrotum just folds between the teeth of the guard and shreds the skin like a bastard. This bleeds a surprising amount. Within seconds my balls are wet and sticky with blood. About an hour later a huge blue/black scab has formed, which wouldn't be so strange except that it's under the skin!

 Wednesday

I spent the entire day watching ‘Deal or No Deal’. 

The entire day.

For people who have never seen the show I’ll briefly summarise. Twenty two people with severe mental malfunctions and emotional problems are lined up in a row and presented with a game of chance. Their spongy brains are not really up to coping with the concept of chance or chaos, so they begin to act in increasingly pathetic and disgusting ways as the game goes on. Watching these people try to think is a lot like watching a crippled puppy try to walk, heartbreaking... but ultimately ineffective.

The appeal for the viewer is that these bastards make you angry. You get addicted to the rush of anger. That pump of adrenaline through your heart makes you feel alive. You find yourself standing in front of the T.V, screaming, throwing punches into the air. By the end of the day I was a complete anger junkie. I hated everything and everyone.

Thursday

4 p.m... I had been inside too long.

Must get out.

Decided to go for an ale.

Maybe two. 

                                                                                    

Friday

? a.m .... I woke up and there’s feet kicking at me. Someone is shouting “Who is he?”.  Are they talking about me? I wonder. “He stinks” They say. Probably so, but I can’t really get my bearings on what is going. The feet keep knocking me off balance. For some reason I’m heavily, heavily boozed. Hands start grabbing and pulling at me. “Get out you bastard!” Something screams.

“Okay, okay” says the bastard.

The door slams behind me. Why was I in that house? Why were people kicking me? What was going on? I looked up into the sky. I decided it was morning. I was completely twisted on booze. I could barely remember a thing.  It came back to me in drips and drabs. I’d been on the rum the night before. Had a few pints. Then hit the rum. I’d deserved it, stressful week. Then I loose a couple of hours of memory. Just blank tape. I remember there had been a disagreement in a bar. I remember being thrown into the street by a bouncer. Then there’s another gap in my memory. Ah yes. I had needed somewhere to sleep. I climbed in through their window, it seemed inviting at the time. Then something else came back to me. I checked my trousers. Yes. I had actively pissed myself to keep warm while sleeping on their floor. I couldn't very well turn their heating on could I? In the middle of an energy crisis, that’s just rude.

I then began the impossibly long and impossibly bleak walk home.

Saturday

I spent all day in a feverish boozed up sleep. Swallowing handfuls of valerian when I could.  My sleep was saturated with nightmares about my balls rotting off, tiny feet stamping out my brains and my life being a complete mess.

Sunday

9 A.M ... check my emails.

No word back from that job.

Bastard.

At least I’m not like those ‘Deal or No Deal’ fuckers. 

Not yet.