Why do I always get the piece with the hair in it?

Unable to resist the urge to write despite the total lack of material, I carry on. The first thing I thought of was how my family has the best names for farts I’ve come across. The top 3 are “Have you done a windy”, “Have you made a smell” and the simple but direct “Have you done something?” Everyone knows exactly what they mean. I imagine in the Peruvian jungle someone says in Inca the exact equivalent of “Have you done something” while most of the men sheepishly point at the monkeys hoping no one will believe them.
Following the little gaseous diversion, what else can I tell both of you (if I’m lucky) nowadays about life in and around Kingsbury? Sod all really. If it can go right on the pleasure front it goes wrong. For a hell of a long time. The email replies are unnecessarily absent from people who actually liked me once. My arse. I look for more continuously, and having found it mainly lies with the company of other people have turned up blanks for ages. I’m not sure if my attitude of enjoying someone’s company without the need for elaborate arrangements has put anyone off, the fact I moan about being single, or the simple fact that being so makes me stand out like a leper in a Mexican wave (think about it). So all but the pains in the arse avoid me, those who the rest of London have dodged and I didn’t manage to, so am left with their assumption I’m their best friend having not told them to piss off when they called me like everyone else apparently did.

So the apparently endless routine carries on with such minor variations they don’t stick in the memory for long. Did I go to the local grocer’s or the supermarket? Besides my photos and my painting there’s little else to liven things up, and that’s about it. Does everything good either take ages to happen or not even exist? Or start when you’re a child and then go away? Don’t ask me, I only know how it has been for me. And when I expect more and get less then I have to ask myself whether I expect too much and don’t put enough in? I doubt it. It’s all about knowing the tricks and short cuts, effort is little or nothing to do with it. I expect I put in as much effort as most people, you don’t get as many qualifications as I have by slacking, and since then besides losing the only jobs I got I didn’t need to kill myself for exam deadlines any more or anything else like too many other idiots seem to do. Why should life need to be an effort to achieve anything? Does everyone with the best things mean they worked the hardest? I doubt it. Like the bad people getting just as much if not more than the good really. I am judging myself to get in before others.

Otherwise I can judge what’s right in front of me. Same as usual. And on weekends I start by looking at the past week and then trying to avoid looking at the next. At least the busy week has been done, and next seems relatively quiet though not totally. Having embarrassed myself with the second and possibly last mutual woman of my life but nothing took place as I got sidetracked, what will the next fiasco be? Letting a follow through go during a session? Having a woman see what I wrote about her here without knowing she could find it? I haven’t even got any plans that can be fucked up at the moment, but things always can anyway. This is the year where the only thing I had keeping me same was the promise I’d be on TV. That was a lie and I ended up with the empty desert of what there is. As I say, do I expect too much or do I deserve everything I don’t get? One mystery after another.