Straight to Voicemail

Anger.
Tumorous, malignant anger swelling in cancerous cysts.

This is (apparently) the automatic reaction to me not answering my phone.

To build on my most recent post, I now have a BlackBerry. While it's a useful tool, it does have it's drawbacks. The most obvious being that it WILL NOT SHUT UP.

So, when I turned my phone off this weekend to go get some shut-eye, I did not expect to wake up and discover that the very act of submitting to unconsciousness had made my Dad well and truly flip his lid.

Bloody Nora.

I'm used to waking up to a scalding cup of milky coffee; not a barrage of missed calls and text messages calling me an "incompitant PRICK"

My first thought? Learn to fucking spell.

I'd felt a little ill for days, and I simply couldn't face going to work
For most people this isn't a big deal - we all have those days when getting out of the covers is, quite simply, a traumatic process.
But with my Dad's irrespressable anger, I decided to drag myself out of my miserable hovel and catch a train to Wolverhampton.

Creeping down backstreets to avoid being seen, I made my way to the bus-stop, before bolting towards Wolvs for my second visit of the holidays.
With my heart-pounding in paranoid palpitations for the duration, and a feeling of nausea tugging at my innards I realised how childish the whole situation was.

I'm 19 and I shouln't be shying away from my father in the shadows.
I realised on that train ride that I'm not scared of my Dad (even if his voice can shake buildings with its defeaning reverberations), I'm scared of the fact that you simply can't argue with him.

You may have heard the saying "You can't argue with a fool."

Well, I think that's a particularly apt summary.

Of course I love the fool - he's family - but when he gets an idea in his head it clogs his thought process like a particularly vicious poo clogs a toilet... and with much the same degree of subtlety.

There's a time to think of others, but I'm starting to see that every now and again there's a time to be selfish, a time to stop incessantly worrying about what other people think about you.
This is my time.


So, for the time being, I'm back in Wolverhampton, spending my days crippled by hysterical laughter at the nonsensical musings of my favourite ginger.

And I'll be here for a good while...

...Which leaves plenty of time to dislodge any mental blockages that might be lingering around.

Actually, I'm pretty sure there's some Mr Muscle under the sink.