Monday, October 17, 2011

Inner voice!

Title inspiration from Adam Sandler.

I'm sure I'm not the only one who has an actual inner voice. I mean, I can only go by my experience of having an inner voice and therefore assuming that other people have them to. So I have one. And, thanks to years of practice, it's somewhat critical and / or depressed. If, for example, my reverie is disturbed. Which is basically any time where I am not the one actively pursing the reason for social interaction my inner voice usually sighs with exasperation and says unkind things like 'oh what the fuck is it now?'. Then, if it's not being an arsehole about other people who simply wanted to interact with me, my inner voice is ragging on me.

Like today, when I took the bins out. I was wearing my harry-high more-dirty-clothes-than-clean pyjamas—the ones you wear only when the good ones have been worn and soiled—slippers, bed socks, and my banded polo-neck shirt that can no longer be worn to work (1). My inner voice actually said—and I suspect he was doing a line from Black Adder Two—'You're a sad, laughable parody of a man'. Aided in part by an unflattering stretched shadow from a mid-to-late-afternoon sun. Which everyone knows adds like ten fucking pounds.

Later, though, he went for a celebrity impression. Which is kind of one of the tools all comics have when just starting out and where they're not sure where their strengths are or what their voice is yet.

By way of background my day started with severe pain after an exceptionally white-facening of a pain spike upon waking this morning (2). This was combined with my still-flared-from-over-use boneitus of my bad hip combined with a sore right foot. It meant I actually limped with both feet, making me shuffle back and forth, with a big pain grimace etched on my face.

It was at one such point he yelled at me.

'Look at you ... waddling like a fuckin' Penguin!'

And what was the celebrity impression he did?

Al Pacino.

That's not even fucking original.

What a fuckwad.

(1) Not because it's an uncouth garment. It's just gotten too ratty to be worn anywhere but flopping around the house and/or just-nipping-out-to-the-shops-for-milk-and-probably-something-naughty expeditions.
(2) It was so bad I had the shakes as I drove into work. I had to stay as long as possible to get the needed stuff done done and some work to take home. Then ... to bliss out on super meds as I try and ride the pain wave and work at the same time. Yes, that's how I roll. I'm like a Public Service Road Warrior who puts his aging body on the line again and again but for little thanks.


  1. Punch him in the nuts. Metaphorically.

  2. My inner voice is a bit of an arsehat.

    TheWife was concerned I was displaying signs of schizophrenia. Ah the dangers of living with a double psych major ... and enough about my mother already!


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