Chaos Theory

May 17, 2010

My two months in Leeds is up. I haven’t been back to London even for a weekend so my return yesterday felt like pissing after holding it in for 9 weeks, a mixture of pleasure, relief and pain. The tube carriage at Finchley Central that pulled up in front of us contained a man the colour of a hooker’s light bulb who had sprawled himself over two seats and wrapped his torso around the arm rest. He was completely unconscious and was wearing a vest top with a huge sparkly word on it like, “Cock”, or, “Arse”. You know one of those “fun” tops. He had clearly been up for 48 hours plus and had put all the drugs he could get his hands on directly into his eyes. When he finally came to and dragged his bleary, swollen head upright he looked like a bewildered Orangutan. I hope he was going to hospital. I really do.

I have returned to my life, to unemployment, that familiar smell of nothing cooking and a menacing pile of post with all the hallmarks of officialdom stamped upon it. I am having something confirmed for me which I have suspected for a long time. Chaos is my best mate. I know you can no more be friends with a concept than have sex with a cloud, I know that OK? It’s a flipping metaphor, why do we even bother talking to each other? I have tried and tried in the past to not be surrounded by chaos. I have tidied, I have ordered, I have spent loads of money in Ryman’s buying a folder for every single bit of paper I come into contact with, I have stapled post it notes to my thighs, I have drawn a histogram of my past relationships, I have made a spreadsheet of my feelings. I have come to the conclusion that I must have some sort of shambles gland that works without me even knowing it. No matter how hard I try to be organised my shambles gland sneaks behind my back and sets fire to my diary. Take money for example. Some people have a knack with money that seems quite natural. They squirrel it away, they save, they are sensible. I, on the other hand, appear to treat money like it’s diseased. Cash flies from me like flocks of startled birds with the face of the Queen. I wouldn’t mind if I had something to show for it like a collection of rare fur hats, or the loss of my septum but I don’t. I am just pathologically awful with money. Even when I try to be good with it something happens to make it disappear. I blame the shambles gland secreting its shit juice into my head and befuddling me. I considered going on a money management course but thinking about that more made me want to take my own life so I have decided I am going to call NHS Direct about my shambles gland to try and get it removed.

NHS Direct: Hello NHS Direct.

Daniel: Yes I’m really bad with money.

NHS Direct: Do you have a medical problem sir?

Daniel: Yes my brain hurts when I talk to the bank.

NHS Direct: Where do you get the pain?

Daniel: Right in the account. It spreads as well. Up the savings.

NHS Direct: Any other symptoms?

Daniel: I get cold sweats at cash machines.

NHS Direct: I’ll book you in for a Shambleoctomy.

Until I get it removed I’m claiming disability.


One Response to “Chaos Theory”

  1. Caroline Duncan (Pugh) Says:

    Oh my god I have one of them too!!! I think over 250,000 people get it every year in te uk alone!! x x
    Lovin the blogs Dan x

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