There was a time not so long ago that I would regularly get my knickers in a twist over things I had no control over. Politics for example. Many a day I would seethe with angried up blood because our lives were being controlled by people who desperately needed featuring in an episode of Dexter.
Fortunately, the deeper I've retreated into my cave the less of a toss I give. I give so little of a toss now about anything in fact that I'm finding myself increasingly without anything to seethe about. I miss it. I think. My thumbs are sore from all the twiddling.
I might have accepted that we're all doomed and it's every man woman and child for him her and its self and I might have been forsaken by the football Gods too many times now to feel anything when Arsenal lose to Stoke, but I refuse to accept that I'm essentially dead inside.
For the next few days I'm going to search for something to get emotional about. I'm going to watch some you tube videos of dogs struggling in icey water. That always reduces me to tears. If only Suki and Ling Ling had waited for me. They could have wrestled in jelly to take my mind of all this inner turmoil guff.
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