You add more chalots to the pot, it dances into your synapses like a swirly ribbon.
Your day was long, it’s winter and the weather is shit and your car heater stopped working.
In fact it never really worked, you just can’t be bothered getting it fixed, because you enjoy the feeling of getting cold then stepping inside a warm home.
You turn on the radio.
It’s Cardi B.
You pretend you enjoy it, but deep down inside you hate these new tunes, they don’t make sense to you anymore.
You have to like it, you’re only twenty four, you’re not an old prude, so you learn the lyrics off by heart.
You fuck some chicken into the pot, some potatoes and some spices. You hold back some masala for you to drink later. Warm milk, masala and some cardamom.
They call this drink chai tea, but in India chai means tea, so essentially they are saying tea tea. The pretentious twats.
You take a picture of your dish as it sits on your plate and you upload it to Instagram #Chickencurry you say, with a chilli emoji.
You choose the sepia filter. It looks sound.
You scoff your meal down like a savage who hasn’t eaten in days, the knife and fork dances on your plate in a syncrosed ballet.
Time for bed.
You lay in the silk sheets that your mom brought over yesterday, it feels great. The pillow you brought from Bed Bath and Beyond for a retail price of $45 feels amazing and smells like your lavender shampoo..
And for seven minutes the world is perfect. Just you and your yourself hugging each other in this perfect cocoon of comfort.
You are happy.
Your phone dings, it’s an Instagram like, you know it.
You grab your Samsung Galaxy S9 and push the home key.
The cold blue light beams across the room and your face as you dim it down like a modern day glimmer man.
It’s your mom, she liked your post.
You scroll up and down your feed.
You see a set of tits, you double tap.
You see a funny Trump meme and you post a laughing emoji.
You check for more likes and still nothing, just your mom.
You notice Nigel post a picture in real time.
He is in Fiji with his girlfriend, they are on the beach, each holding a cocktail. Looks like a whiskey sour, you can tell by the frothy texture and disgusting brown and grey color that reminds you of truffle butter.
The hearts for his post are rolling in, you see it.
Fifty in nine minutes.
You don’t double tap, instead you start typing.
“How can you afford a holiday if you still owe me $800?”and you end it with an angry emoji.
You sit and look at your comment for almost thirty minutes with your finger hovering over the send button while sipping your tea tea.
You begin to backspace, tears rolling down your face as the letters disappear.
And you type.
“Enjoy your holiday”
Then like the coward you are, you double tap oh his picture and you go back to delete your post.
Tea tea
Hello and welcome to my blog, you emaciated poop munchers.
I don’t really want to be fucking working.
Not only do I not enjoy my job, but I have so many things I could do if I was to be encapsulated in my rented home.
I’ve fully committed to this thing now, plus I have a book in the works. Not forgetting that I have my bike to complete, and two go-carts to build.
I’ve done my bit for our company’s latest task, and I could stay home if I wanted, but for some reason, I just refuse to.
My boss in not a fucking doctor, and yet all of us listen to his bullshit about us being safe and that all of us are definitely out of the target demographic that this cunty virus chooses to affect.
I absolutely believed him a few days ago, and I still kind of do.
I’ve been searching the deepest recesses of my brain, way past the bukkake fetishes and suicidal thoughts, to find out what the actual fuck is actually going on.
I decided to turn to The All Knowing.
The one place where we can find all the answers to life’s big questions.
I jumped on Wikipedia.
I found a story about this mad bastard called Stanley Milgram.
He was a Social Psychologist at Yale University during the sixties. Back then, there were not many rules and regulations around psychology, so they could pretty much do whatever the fuck they wanted.
The experiment went like this.
Milgram set up a bench with a pressure switch. Across it was an interrogation type room, like the ones you see in cop movies. One way glass and all that.
Inside the room was a man hooked up to an electric chair type thing. He was not part of the test subject pool, in fact he was just an actor.
The test subjects were told that if they pushed the switch, the guy hooked up to the chair would receive a sustained electric shock. The further you push the switch, the stronger the current.
The test subjects are also informed that at some point, there is a level of intensity at which the unknown guy in the room would die.
In one documented case, there is a lady who took up the chair at the test table.
She was told to push the switch, and of course she did. She was then instructed to gradually push the switch further and further. The guy getting electrocuted was seething in pain, but she kept pushing the boundaries.
When she was told to push the switch all the way, she was reluctant, because she knew that it would kill the man. But after a little bit of coaxing and assurance that she will not be charged with any crime, she did in fact push it all the way as she cried and said prayers.
Fat Tom Hanks pre-coronavirus
Like the story of Milgram, I think I am falling for the instinct of obeying the person of absolute authority. I have chosen to go against my own fears and morals, because the person in charge has told me to do so.
Pretty fucked up.
I’m not even the only one doing this. So while we are bitching and moaning to each other, standing two metres apart, this may just just be us trying to combat nature. We are nature unfortunately.
This may seem to be a trivial thing, but this is probably the same way genocides start lads.
I’m no psychologist or historian, but I imagine this is how the Nazis were operating,
Maybe this is how the Trump train is fueled. That mayonnaise filled orange condom is clearly as mad as a shopping trolley full of seagulls, but he still has so much support. Fair play to him, and my wanker boss.
Coronavirus…
Fucking sick of it.
My Facebook got a warning for using that word too much, they said I was contributing to the hysteria. Maybe I was, who knows what’s real and what’s fake anymore. I started using creative terms to describe it. The Cheeky Chest Wrestler, The Lung Jester, The Slippery Throat Bandit…. I’m actually enjoying making up these names.
There are so many different stories about this pandemic, that it feels like we are living in a Baudrillard Hyperreal Simulacrum. We’ve become so saturated with information around this virus that we are pretty much fucked.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hyperreality
What do we have so far?
Chinese people eating bats, 5G towers, the US Government, the Jews, The New World Order, the virus doesn’t even exist, the religious munters talking shit. It’s totally out of control.
It is human nature that every occurance requires an explanation, that’s how the concept of religion started. “I don’t know how it works, so God did it,” they say.
Here’s my theory.
The earth is an ecosostem, just like every other ecosystem. A river, the ocean, the jungle, a leaf.
Let’s use a river as an example, it’s the easiest.
In there you might find some fish, algae, plants and shit. And oversimplified, when one of these patrons to this particular ecosystem goes rogue, the river, essentially the earth in this analogy, will fuck them over to put things back in kilter.
That is us, humans, that now need to be put back in line.
I think that pandemics in general, not just this one, is the earth trying to sort this shit out.
The concern for me is that obviously I don’t want this thing to kill anyone, but we will find the cure or vaccine and our ecosystem will continue to be fucked.
I’m literally caught between staying at home and self isolating, and going out there and licking doorknobs to get it over with.
I don’t really know what the fuck is going on, I just want things to go back to normal at this stage. I’m worried about the mental health of the kids, especially the ones between one and three. Those are the crucial years of cognitive development.
The way I’m deciding to deal with this thing is by applying my Cognitive Behavioral Therapy techniques to my day to day existence. I’d be spiralling into the abyss of depression if I wasn’t doing this.
I have this thing I do called the ABC model.
A, meaning the activating event
B, my belief about the activating event
C, the consequences about my belief I have about the activating event.
I’ll make an example. I just had a conversation with a friend of mine who breached the condition of the lockdown to pick up some chain lube. We will chalk this criminal act down to his requirement of an essential item. Squeaky chains are dangerous lads. We were both in need of some man to man attention anyway, fist bumps and all.
We spoke about our quarantine experiences, pretty grim stuff, but I explained to him how I felt about something that happened last night.
My eldest is 17, she is handling the isolation well, but she does get a little bogged down as you do. Last night she decided to have a solo walk. It was pretty dark outside, but she’s old enough to handle it. The route she takes is usually about half an hour, but after an hour, she still hadn’t returned home.
I suffer from anxiety, and after realising that she’d been an hour, I tried calling her. No answer.
My thoughts immediately start catastrophizing. She’s been abducted, she’d been murdered, someone dragged her into a bush and is doing sick shit to her and she can’t get to her phone.
In these instances of extreme anxiety I have to apply this CBT technique before I start calling up the undertakers.
A, activating event
I’m worried because my kid is taking too long to get home from her walk.
B, my belief about the event
She is dead, someone has abducted her.
C, consequences of my belief
I feel physically ill, I want to cry, I’m snappy with those around me, I’m sad.
This does not stop my negative automatic thoughts, but it does help me identify why I feel that way that I feel.
This is the basis of my quest for emotional intelligence.
I used to write these down on a piece of paper, but because my thoughts are in words anyway, I have recently started visualizing it.
The bonus of doing this ABC thingy, is that quite often, when you get to B, you will realise how ridiculous you are and your brain automatically starts making rational conclusions about the activating event.
My daughter wasn’t dead, she was just having a chat with the neighbour and she didn’t want to answer her phone mid conversation.
Pretty fucked up.
Alright see you cunts next time, still figuring out how this thing works.
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