The Battle

The thing which vomits the branded noise compiled with my orders and began it’s vomiting at seven hundred and forty minutes past the begriming of nothing.

This morning the vomit was laden with the musings of that awful Sean Kingston, telling me that he’s suicidal, for a moment I could relate, the air temperature gave no mercy to my fragile semi-conscious state, suicide seamed. at least for a moment, to be a desirable option when compared with my discomfort.

I mustered my wits, threw aside the insulation that had kept me warm and hauled my body out of bed. Naked, the cold smothered me;  I  engaged in the most mortal of combats against it, my goal, to get to the plastic semi-cube containing the genital coverings human society demands,  and an assortment of mostly mismatched foot coverings which I believe the natives of this planet call socks.

After fishing for suitable manhood coverage and quickly  placing it astride myself I began the quest for acquisition of a shirt, which I found in the form of a dark green shirt with a stylized image embossed upon it.

The shirt was a key victory in the war on cold, but more would need to be done if I were to bask in the warmth that would become of victory over this omnipresent tyrant; with sleep in my eyes and victory in my heart I donned a pair of pants and a woolen sweatshirt which was to be the enemy’s proverbial Hiroshima.

Feeing a little better I began to rotate the wheels to which I am attached in such a way that I was propelled toward the kitchen, where I was served a hot chocolate

By now the observant reader will have engaged in a dialog such as this with the brain

Brain: “This mindless crap is all well and good Mr eyes but tell me why I should devote another neuron to processing it”
Mr Eyes: Well, um, ah, I don’t know, why don’t you answer your own dam questions, for Christ sake, your the brain, you know, the one that controls me”

The answer to that question will come as time forces, but in the interval I’d like to raise a toast to Mr Eyes; that brain is an egomaniac , like HIS time is SO important, stick it to him Mr Eyes, just be careful he doesn’t have his hench-hand Leftie stab you with a cue tip

The reason I had the battle, was because today I returned to school for the first time in four weeks.

I tried, but by the end of the day, spare a few musings of how a fellow classmate and I both despise Publisher, I was just as bored today as I ever have been.

I was productive in the morning, completing a few pages of assessment, but by lunchtime, the resolve that had sworn to stay steadfast had proven just how much of a cowardice back-stabber it was. I could not continue, I  squandered away the last hour reading and re-reading the help topic entitled “About Document Map

Lunch itself was a delight, I wasn’t hungry and the campus overlooks the sea which isn’t normally a bad thing, except on this day, Poseidon decided that all that was to die at sea would die now and that the stench thereafter shall be bequeathed upon my town – excellent, there I sat, eating my biscuits, while enjoying the pleasant  aromas of decaying marine life.

And that about sums up my school day – one big steaming pile of decaying marine matter.

 Then it ended, I came home and had an excellent evening meal of fettuccini carbanara – which I bet I just spelt entirely wrong – its a pasta dish – I love it.

And now I lack the resolve to write anymore, and so I shall depart


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