Chin, You Pudding Head

Yesterday, I announced to a friend I need to go away and do some soul-searching. Roni found the idea laughable—when, where, and how did I manage to lose my soul?

But now that I’ve thought of it, it really is ridiculous. Feeling lost implies I have an emotional, intellectual or physical destination. But maybe there is no destination, and maybe I’ll stop feeling lost when I accept that there is no point z. Maybe there is only the present moment, and I should stop wasting it so recklessly, fighting a losing war with this bed, because life doesn’t come with a reset button. One day, I’ll regret not having used my time more productively.

I am mortified to announce that it’s now 1:35 in the afternoon and the only thing I’ve managed to do since 9 this morning is cry as if I’d just been orphaned. I realize now just how daft I’ve been to waste time so, and so, before I give myself any more reason for self-loathing, I shall try to drag myself out of bed and get some work done.

Rise and shine, Chin, you pudding head. Pull your head out of the metaphorical wall mounted fireplaces in your ass and try to do something for God and country today—or failing that, at least brush your teeth. Ick.