hello me

I have had a shitty week and its going bad to worse.

The start of the week my idiot, ‘panorama special’
brother-in-law, got himself sacked.

My sister decided to leave the idiot, but the greetin’ faced
twat turned on the water works, don’t leave me, don’t leave me, (I am surprised
that there was not a feeble attempt at copping his wack!)

No loss there.

This turned the responsibility to my sister not to break up
the family. This could lead to her to staying with him, to any man to use this
on a woman, angers me greatly, though if he laid one hand on her I would lose
my passive persona and stab the prick in the dick right up to the heart.

Though I would probably would need to get in line, it’s
funny I am watching Murder on the Orient Express, if you know the plot of this,
you would think it was apt!

6 days to ma wee holibags, and I am getting the fuck out of
this shithole, even if I have to buy tent and go around.

Look out for me @ http://trippin.andimain.com/#home

Well where do I begin, I am going back into one of my down
periods.

And I want to end.

I hate feeling like this, my parents are running each other
down now on a daily basis.

Then I have to go into work and allow customers to give me
their brand of love also.

I am ether going to be dead by the end of the year or in
ward 24 in the monklands.

At the moment I am praying for the former. My life is on the
shitter and its not getting any better.

Any hoo before I top myself

tata

Well I am a happy bunny

Well I am happy bunny, not a happy human though!

I have the month from hell, never change your entertainment
supplier , it’s a bitch!

I trying to remain sane, but its doing ma head in, (yes I know what I said!)

I am looking to getting peace and quiet on my holibags, 7
weeks from now! Well spank my ass and call me betsy.

I want a wee holibags away from here, I want to go caravanning
hurrah!

Any hoo I will go noo and lay down.

Mental illness is a fun thing, gets me fucked up,

I am kalms favourite customer, I need stability in my life
and I am not getting it.

My father hates me!

I like my mother always have, will protect her with my life,
but because my father doesn’t like her fuck me as well for sticking up for her.

Like usual, (like my little brother, when he has need for
me, I am his best pal.)

Little does he know when he goes loopy and gaga he’s getting
lumped in a home. No weeping, no poor me, when you’re a gay person, and your
father turns round and says to the whole room, that aids was a good thing and
that it was killing the gays of the world, and that all gays should be taken to
an island and left to die. Kind of sums up my relationship with my father.

Any hoo watching dirty harry! (Nope not a porn film, filthy
people,) the funky Clint movie.

I am a baw hair away from the nut house.

I’m no kiddin, I’m no sleeping, talking to myself like a
nutter.

I am also acting like those who are in nappies, droolin
their words, trying to remember where I put things. No kidding, I am this close
to ward 24.

I am taking the strain of everyone on top of me. I’m taking
everything that happens in work, then going home taking all the strains of
home, and the lovely joys that entails.

They don’t even admit you any more, you are handed loopy
tablets, and hope for the best, I would love a wee quiet room, with my notebook
for company. Now you can only pay for a stay in the nut house, god bless Betty
Ford, and The Priory.

I also wanted to be a lighthouse keeper, stuck out in the
sticks, with your thoughts for company, I would love isolation, I hate people, I
like the quiet, I would even have took a job as a shepherd but it would mean
dealing with a dug and sheep.

So what’s left for me, apart from running naked through the
high street with the polis chasing after me?

Well go out with a bang, with a smile in ma face.

To-da-loo

So, where has my life got to, so to speak, up a close, along
the street?

Weeeelllllll, idiotic queen that I am, I probably not amount
to much, job that is slowly killing me, I am not joking with that one, the
headaches are getting worse every day, I sometimes want to cry out with the
pain.

I have to manage my life in we silent compartments, smile
like a mental, keep my mouth shut, and also get pelted with shit, and thank
people for the privilege of getting it.

Run myself into the ground, so I come home at night, and
fall in my bed.

I have no life, never will have, let’s face it no one will
have me, (nope is no ‘think I’ll go and eat worms,’) I know I will have no
relationship, I just am not designed that way, I don’t want people wanting me,
it means I will have to give something in return, I can’t do that, can’t show
people the real me, (even here.)

I also get the feeling that I will die quite suddenly, my
health is quite poor, I know I have brought this on myself. My biggest fear is
for this to happen at work, for the shitty screens you see in ‘carry on’ films
to surround me, to fall on that flea infested carpet, to also have my fellow
inmates to carry on work after my death. The biggest fear is to be put in a
body bag and wheeled out like the trash.

I also feel my depressions are getting the better of me,
that one day; I will just give up and top myself, well maybe one day.

As you can tell dear readers, I am in one of my down times, I
have not got the designer illness by-the-way, bi-polar, and I am just naturally
depressive!

Any hoo, before I put ma heid in the oven, (knowing my luck,
the gas will go out!)

Nighty

Is it me or am I getting bored with life now! Down now,

I am getting to a stage where topping myself becomes more
interesting to me every day.

The thought of spending another 4 years in Belsen, (yep I know,
Belsen was a death camp, and they went through so much more than you,) but it’s
not far off.

When I first started my role, I was there to take payments, maybe
change something on accounts.

Now I do that, have to sell like del-boy out of only fools and
horses, act as a debit councillor, (funny though in the same role, as the heavy
trying to recover the debit,) also take the abuse the customer throws at us,
and all with a sweet smile on my face. We’re expected, not to feel stress, not
to get down, not in my case want to end it all. I have seriously thought about
it.

I have taken the pains that I suffer to the highest level;
there are days where I can go through 8 painkillers in one day, just to stop
the pain, where I don’t want to feel sick.

Feeling down now, I feel that expressing this over to
people, I don’t know is the only thing that is keeping me sane.

Maybe one day, when I keel over at work, and I get wheeled
out in the rubber bin-bag. Someone will look at this and say ‘he did have
feelings, he wasn’t just a number’

59794

Even sounds like I am a prisoner, 59794, even they get time
off for good behaviour

I’m the most un gayest person you can meet!

No I will admit the camp voice, the love of romance novels,
and the love of boaby, does not go with the above statement.

But I’m fat, bald, face like a smacked arse and my sense of
style, have a lot to answer for.

I don’t even have the sense to scream at boy bands, (other
than joy, when one goes loopy on drugs, smashed oot his mind, in the priory) I hate
also stupid shitty Simon Cowell talent shows,

In ye olden days we used to line up at the Looney bin, and
point and laugh at the Looney’s, now we watch a two ton chav, with the pulled
up hairdo and the clothes that would put a blush on the face, Taiwanese hooker.
Thank they have a talent , oor we Simon rubs his hands together and says we
have a winner, hurrah another shitty song in the market, god bless the British
public and all who ride her, (we have been fucked by Simon since he started.)