Fed. Up.

Every morning I wake up hoping it’s still Saturday, so that I still have a chance to call off the appointment with The Inkman. (or ‘The Bastard’ as I’ve started calling him)

Philippa refused to come round tonight. She said she’s sick of me going on about the tattoo and she doesn’t want to see me until I ‘grow up and get over it.’ She said lots of people have scars and traumas they have to deal with; I have no real issue for complaint.

They used to tell me that writing poetry or an angry letter can help to vent feelings and unhappiness, so here’s a list of things I’m really fed up with at the moment (not including the obvious)…
…seeing Jamie Oliver’s smug face on telly every week
…the price of petrol, even though I haven’t started buying it yet.
…our neighbours dog, that keeps yapping every seven seconds 24-hours-a-day
…being constantly asked ‘where’s the bread, love?’ by old people in the supermarket.
…having a girlfriend who expects me to act with a certain amount of consideration for her and her feelings, rather than doing whatever I like.
…being away from that girlfriend tonight, when I feel I really need her company

RC 14-6-11