Harden The Fuck Up

My smart phone is half broken.  I can’t pull the top menu down.  Have to turn it over to the side.

I left my scarf at work.  Have to wear the old one that smells of mothballs.

I keep getting white gunk in my eyes, around the tear ducts.  I wipe it off twelve times a day but it instantly returns.  What kind of fucked up adaptation is this?  Perhaps my ancestors lived in an environment where brain-eating bugs crept up the tear ducts and consumed their brains.  Maybe that’s this environment.  Shouldn’t have wiped it.  Explains why I’m so stupid.


YouTube won’t load.

It’s meant to rain on and off all weekend.  How am I supposed to get my washing dry?

I have a vague feeling there’s something I was supposed to do for work that I’ve clean forgotten about.  Complete part of a Google Doc or something.  Garrrr, sort it out tomorrow.  It’s embarrassing to ask: “Was there something I was supposed to be doing?  Maybe it involved a computer?”

My cupboard is moldy.  Anything I put in there reeks and becomes unusable.

Today is so overcast.  I’d give my left ball for a bit of sunshine.

My plant is leaning over.  I’m worried it’s going to fall out of the pot.

Is having plants alpha?

I’ve pissed about ten times today.  What the fuck.  It’s midday.

Shit, what was that thing for work?  It might be due tomorrow.  I could just check my email now.

I want to finish reading that book.  I have stacks to get through.  Never have the time and have trouble concentrating when I do because I’m thinking of all the other things I should be doing.  Oh, and have you ever tried reading a book when you girl’s in the room?  Might as well try to read in a room full man-sized mosquitos.

All the corners in my house are dirty.  Should go and wipe them all down.  But I’m writing this article now.  Told myself I’d finish three posts then make a long-term list of things to do.  It’s no good chopping and changing jobs, you never get anything done.  I read that in an article when I was supposed to be doing that thing for work.  Whatever that was.

Saturday is my rest day.  No exercise.  Maybe I should do a bit, though.  But that would distract me even more than I am already.

My fingers smell of vinegar.  Can’t get the smell out.  From cleaning that moldy cupboard, and it didn’t even work.

I got a souvenir pen from a country I visited, gave it to a girl I was seeing.  She complained that it wasn’t cute enough.  That’s the problem with dating girls in their early twenties.  They don’t act like human beings until they start getting old enough to be ugly.

My scissors are blunt.  It pulls my hair when I trim my beard.  I ordered new ones on Amazon but they won’t be here for a few more days.  Just have to wince and bear it.

Our ancestors would not have bothered hunting woolly rhinos or fighting the Japs if they’d known the impossible tribulations their descendants would face.  And yet, my brothers, we boldly persevere.


Further reading: How to be Free

Follow SovietMen on Twatter: @nvladivostok1

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