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A week ago today, I was given an ultimatum.   Uh oh.   I’m never very good with authority figures, I have to say. Or with taking orders.


Or (while we’re on the subject) with morals to stories, you know?   I was going on about fairytales and all that shit the other day, but the bit I never ever get is the pseudo-morality that’s dropped in at the end like some stupid afterthought – only you’re meant to take it as ‘the whole meaning to the story all along’?   What the fuck?   Now, you know how I feel about ethical conduct as the best of times (it graduates from relative indifference to total fucking contempt) – but even you know story morals are all bullshit, yeah?   Come on.   Nothing in real life has a ‘moral’.   No nice cliched closure, no neat end to the story, no simple but profound lesson to be learnt and taken away for use next time.   No – such – thing.   Fairytales might have started out by being based on real stuff, but the moral is some poncy didactic wanker’s attempt to contain scary shit with the trappings of a ‘life lesson’.   Bah.   That’s a flimsy way to cage a beast if ever I read one.

Tonight Kane is coming over for pizza and beer (awkward, but I cope) and 80s action flicks.   Nice.   Mitch, ever the fish boy, got hit in the head with a basketball today, went to the hospital for two hours over lunch, but came back to school to tell tall tales about having seen actual stars at the moment of impact.   Fuck, he’s a sad case.   After school I checked the mail and found Py had sent me a semi-pornographic postcard with “Amelia is looking for fun” written on the back.   Yeah – thanks for the warning, buddy.   Punctual as ever.   Sheesh.

Pam is vacuuming in the next room and singing Pink songs loudly and out-of-tune because she thinks Eddie (the imaginary guardian I invented to placate her) is ‘at work’ being a security guard.   She loves ironing his uniform – I prepare it extra smelly and dirty for her sometimes so she can feel self-righteous and maternal at the same time.   Jenna her daughter has exhausted her entire vocabulary in five minutes of clumsy attempts at conversation with me (where, like, as usual, like, every second word was – ‘like’), and is now playing a dangerous game over there with the Cat and a roll of newspaper.   The Cat is swinging its tail and glaring and raking claws through the end of the paper maliciously (it wishes Jenna’s bare arm would come a little closer…)

And I’m sitting here, snapping rubber bands between the fingers of one hand, watching Twitter crash, deleting old phone texts, and refusing to have morals to stories.


Oh.   And I killed Amelia a week ago today.  

Did I not mention that?




One Comment

  1. Oh. ‘Was’ interesting. That’s what I get for not reading ahead before posting.

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