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Misanthropy

It’s barely two pm and I am already contemplating an extended disco nap. For some reason I feel like an absolute zombie today, and acting like one too. All I want to do is eat. Not brains albeit, but anything else? Yes. Feed me. All the while my subconscious is barking the calorie count of everything I’m eyeing up into my ear, until my head rings with shame. Perhaps I’m eating out of boredom? Maybe, but I am quite content having a lazy day, so…

It defies logic that I should be tired, so I’m going to attribute it to how yesterday went. The whole day I had that nagging voice chirping away at the back of mind, telling me I’m not good enough, and that no one at work liked me. That I’ll never progress there or amount to anything – so yeah, that was mentally exhausting to endure. Couple that with the sheer stupidity of the general public and you’ve got one worn-out Topher.

I need to reinforce certain defences in my life; erect more barricades. Keep those pesky wee negative trolls away – the thoughts and the people. Because, I’m slowly beginning to loathe the entire human race. I can feel myself harbouring a global indifference towards humanities survival. Bring on the apocalypse. At least then I wouldn’t have to watch my weight.  Whenever I tell people I’m slowly becoming a misanthrope they always glare at me like it’s a bad thing. Have you seen the world we live in? Misanthropy isn’t a personality flaw, it’s a fucking skill. A planet cluttered up with idiotic human-decorations. Clearly God is lazy and hasn’t taken the trash out in a millennia because the general public are now a virus with shoes.

You know what really bothers me (and I’m going to assume you care as you’re reading this) is when people take a couple of days to reply. Petty yes, but irk me it does. Then, as if the delay wasn’t impertinent enough, they have the audacity to pap you off with the basic “Sorry I’m shit at replying” malarkey. No, you’re not shit are replying, you just aren’t needing or wanting anything from me at this moment in time. Whether that’s sex or your ego stroked or whatever. So don’t try and fob me off with that. At least get creative.  Honestly, half the time making the effort with people feels like I’m fellating someone who’s intermittently stubbing a cigarette out on my head.

OK, clearly grumpiness has taken a firm grasp of the keyboard. I said earlier I had no real reason to be tired, but if I think about it I do. I’m on my feet all day, then exercise or go running either before or after work. I went running earlier and it is both physically and mentally draining. Talk about being trapped in a sweaty circle of crushing anxiety. I fear the judgement of dogs, let alone the passers-by. Jesus, I’m just a walking beacon of insecurity. A slave to the judgement of others. Forever destined to roam in this concrete jungle, avoiding when I can the cluster of moronic apes that inhabit it.

Luckily enough today is my day off, but my body clock refuses to let me slumber past 8am, so I was up at the back of seven, contemplating life and how I can improve mine. I don’t want to feel like I did yesterday ever again. Partly because it leads to this tittering-idiot’s cyber pamphlet of self-pity being flung at you, and also because I very much want to be happy and not grumpy.  I’m aware that it is impossible for that to happen, I’ll always have days like that, but I’m going to try and do everything I can soften the blow if, and when, it occurs.  Until then I’ll glide through life with absolutely no elegance whatsoever. A jittering, neurotic mess who will try desperately not to piss his pants with rage at the general public and the mollycoddled bratty offspring they are raising.

Grumpy Topher is away, needs a lie down.

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