Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday!
We Need To Talk About Kevin
Not the book.
The Lizard.
The future saviour of humankind. My God, he’s got his work cut out. No wonder he’s trying to hibernate. I might join him.
I told him what’s been going on in detail…
I don’t know if it’s because I’m half asleep in the morning when I wander downstairs to get a nice cup of tea but things around me seem a little bit odd. Like why did I take my shoes off halfway up the stairs? Is this a subliminal attempt at trying to kill myself in the morning when I trip over them?
I boil the kettle. It takes ages in the morning when my mouth is stuck together and I’m desperate for liquid. I’m sure this is deliberate. I am convinced that inanimate objects are possessed.
I eventually make tea.
I don’t make it properly because I’m in too much of a rush and it looks like gnats piss. It’s irritating but I’m too impatient to re-do it. I then spill it all over my fluffy white dressing gown which I just washed yesterday because I’ve filled it too close to the top of the mug.
My mouth is too dry to compose a two syllable curse word so I think it instead. Viciously. I direct it towards the kettle and wait for it to blow up.
There is nothing elegant about me in the morning, whatsoever.
British Currant-cy Threatened
I turn on BBC news. There’s something very comforting about the presenters on the red couch. Right up until they say something about Brexit affecting the sales of Eccles cakes.
Really?
Did I just hear that?
Have you ever eaten an Eccles cake? Don’t. Any food invented in the 1800’s has deep evil within it ’Well we did what we could with the ingredients available at the time’ written all over it. A ton of currants squished into a flat, dry, flaky pastry type cake better used as a disc weapon or to stop unwanted guests coming round.
NOBODY CARES ABOUT THE ECCLES CAKE – WHY IS THIS NEWS?
I make some random gesture at the TV and my arm catches an empty bottle that I’m sterilising ready to make a Christmas oil. It smashes all over the floor into so many pieces I have to analyse it for a moment in wonderment. The first rule is “Don’t move” lest you slice your skin open on invisible chards because you’ve got nothing on your feet because you stupidly left your bloody shoes on the stairs and your slippers…errr… I think they were discarded some summer’s day in the garden, aprés gin and tonicking, and got rained on.
Total chaos.
JP Saved Me Then Deepak Took The Slack
Fortuitously, I’m reading the 12 Rules For Life by Jordan.B.Peterson who is teaching me how to get the yin to my yang with his professional wisdom. I’m already performing like a top lobster and learning how to take control of situations in a more orderly fashion.
JP fully understands loving one’s lizard. The man is a genius.
But, my impetuous self, (it’s been said) also needs more yin input by the way of other sensory forms.
Ask and you shall receive. Unless it’s money – that never bloody happens.
Cue Deepak Chokra
I’m not making that name up. He’s a proper famous Indian medicine man that I’ve heard things about.
Anyway, I got wind of him doing a 21-day free meditation experience and I took it as a sign.
I’m crap at meditating. Awful. If anyone can get me calming down it’s gonna be Deepak. So I signed up, downloaded the app, and got ready for my express train to Zen.
What Did He Say?
Day 1 was a meditation on extra energy. Hmmm. Actually trying to calm down rather than add extra caffeine, but, let’s see. Supposed to do it in the day but not got time for that, so, did it in bed at midnight.
First off, his accent annoyed me. He said UTEful instead of youthful. It shouldn’t matter, but it did. How am I supposed to feel youthful if he doesn’t say it properly? He reminded me of the muppet at the Amex call centre who couldn’t explain to me why my credit card wasn’t working.
I know. I’m going to Hell.
And then he gave me a “Mantra”. In gobbledegook. Despite him repeating it several times, I couldn’t remember it. Crucial is the mantra as it must be repeated silently in your head in order to concentrate. Swearing silently is not an alternative.
“Poodna yay?” Is that what it was?
He introduced the ring of a Tibetan bell signifying the start of the exercise.
“Ting”
Bell never stopped. Oh, wait…My bloody neighbours! Their alarm is going off again! Should I get up and go and shoot it with my BB gun? Maybe if I back my car into their front door it might turn off and they’ll get the message.
Focus, Focus….“Hoo-Hah,HEY!” that was what he said, right?
“Hoo -hah-hey – let’s all play – No thank you, not today -do ya wanna walk this way…”
Some tosser is now setting fireworks off. Why? It’s not bonfire night for a week yet. “Penny for the guy”, cos when I find out who is doing this he’s gonna roast on a bonfire. Oh no, it’s Halloween tomorrow. Great. Another night of shutting all the lights off and pretending I’m not in because I ate all the bloody sweets. Maybe I should adopt my step-father’s strategy and go to the door in a WW11 tin helmet with a rifle and say, “TRICK”
That should fetch a posse of torch burning villagers round. I could set booby traps on my drive and make my own entertainment show.
Uh-oh…. con-cen-traaaate… Ummm…errr…“Have a nice day!” Was that the mantra? Sounds the same.
“TING”
Meditation over. Analysis: I just can’t do this malarkey.
Peace? In pieces.
Mood? Violent.
Energy? Like that firework outside, whizzing into oblivion with no sodding direction.
Conclusion: Be like Kevin.
