Came Home, Feeling Blue

The miserable bastard made an appearance again tonight. You know, I used to criticise David and his 28 day cycle where his oestrogen levels rose to such a level that he'd spend a day in bed crying like a girl... but, you know, I don't think I'm that much different... just quietly. Less tears.

So, I came home, feeling blue – my knuckles get hairier, my arms extend, I start to limp and shade my eyes from the light until I'm dragging my foot up to my front door, which I open a crack, checking behind me as I post myself through the small gap I allow myself. 

Did I tell you that I got passed over for a promotion? Apparently, I'm not quite corporate enough, too opinionated. Not P.C. enough with my fellow work colleagues. Actually, they didn't tell me that, they didn't tell me anything, but I can guess. My phone has packed it in, fuck it. Sam will be on to me about getting an iPhone, again. Hid in my room. Ate Vegemite toast, toyed with the idea of going for a bike ride. Sat on my balcony and smoke cigarettes instead, even after the dentist made me promise not to. 

I asked the universe for a sign for things to come. You know, just a gesture, I must have been feeling depressed, hey. Yes, barf, pathetic, I know. How 15 years old am I trying to get? Immediately, the hot wog boy from over the road came out to his car, stripped off his shirt and began looking for another inside his vehicle. My, my, my! Black jeans, hot arse, red jocks elastic curving over his ripe, muscular buns, olive skin, black hairy stomach and chest, a thoroughbreds torso, broad shoulders, wiggling as he bent inside the driver's door.

I asked the universe and it gives me beauty? What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Yes, well, thanks universe for that? That's the one department I'm really quite happy with.

Ate more Vegemite toast. Read blogs. Watched porn. Fell asleep.