My Inner Arsehole

I've mentioned it before, I'm mentioning it now and no doubt I'll be mentioning it again in the future; I have an incredibly unhelpful and frankly unpleasant inner voice/voice of my sub-conscience/inner arsehole.  In fact, a lot of the time I think it purposefully works to undermine me in an attempt to turn me into some sort of mental cripple. I came to realise that rather than leave the school yard bullies behind, I've got one living inside my own head!

Fer chrissake......

On the whole though, I've learned to ignore my inner arsehole and just carry on with my head held high.  When I was young it told me that everyone hated me and advised me to set traps and to hide places in order to catch people out!

....yeah, I know.

Listening to this arsehole, I even shut myself in a wardrobe whilst on a school trip.  The wardrobe was in a dorm of 2 bunk beds and I asked one of my 3 room mates to tempt the other two in and then try to persuade them to start slagging me off - WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING? What the hell must SHE have thought? Turns out, disappointingly, they didn't have anything bad to say about me - I had planned to jump out of the wardrobe dramatically shouting 'A-HA, I HEARD EVERY LAST WORD YOU SAID!' when in fact, I had to slink out as if it was totally normal for me to have been standing silently in a wardrobe for an hour.  The other thing I learned was, it is really difficult to shut a wardrobe door from the inside.  You have to try and get some pulling speed and then bring your fingers in quickly.  Unfortunately I didn't get my thumb in quick enough and sort of split the skin (yuck!) so not only was I standing in a wardrobe for an hour, I was standing in a wardrobe in pain and covered in blood.  Fucking mental and that's what happens when you have an inner arsehole who you listen to.

I tell you, my inner arsehole was really pissed off when I came to the conclusion that I couldn't give a shit what people thought of me and if they shunned me it actually made life easier and more pleasant.

My arsehole then tried to tell me that monsters were a reality and that when I was out late at night I shouldn't be scared of murderers or rapists, I should fear the unknown and ancient evil.

....again, I know, I know....

My inner arsehole, in more recent years, has concentrated on telling me that every last twinge, ache, strange mark or pain equals my untimely and ultimately painful death.  Yep, hypochondria is the thing I am battling the most at the moment.  Y'wanna hear what this bastard has been saying to me?

Inner Arsehole (I.A.): Hmmmmmmm, you've had that painful gum thing going on for a few days now haven't you?


Me: Yeah, so what?


I.A.: Well, you've probably got some kind of infection which means that all your teeth will need to be pulled out from that side of your head.  It's that or jaw cancer.  Yeah, it's probably jaw cancer and they'll not only have to pull all your teeth but also remove that side of your jaw.  You'll have to have your face reconstructed and it'll never look the same.  You'll be a social pariah and you'll never be able to do stand up or work where people need to look at you again.  You could do stand up with a sort of Phantom of the Opera mask thing on your face only you probably won't be able to speak properly so no one will understand you.  You'll just have to concentrate on comedy writing and you know you procrastinate so rarely get anything serious written.  You are FUCKED girl.


Me: Oh fucking hell......

I.A.: Yeah, well I'm only trying to prepare you.  Oh yeah, I meant to mention your eyes too...


Me: Oh God, don't mention my eyes. It's the contact lens thing isn't it?  You're going to say something about the contact lens thing aren't you?

I.A.: I'm only trying to be helpful and prepare you for the worst.  That weird thing that keeps happening to your contact lenses - the thing where you blink and suddenly you can't see out of one any more?  That deposit that just suddenly forms? The one that looks like an opaque snowflake across the lens?  Well, clearly that's calcium and your eyes are just over producing it.  You've got CALCIFIED EYES lady.  You are going to wake up one day and discover you've lost your sight.  You'll have some freaky yellow covering over them and it'll frighten people who see you.


Me: Yeah, but 'Bakes' (my sister from another mother/my cousin) works at the University Optician Training place and the lecturer type person she spoke to didn't think it was anything serious.

I.A.: So, it's a new disease is it?  Perhaps they'll name it after you.  Oh yeah, I meant to mention that other thing I've been niggling at you about too...


Me:  The dog.


I.A.: You got it!


Me:  So, the dog has randomly started to follow me around and has been uncommonly loving and clingy to me for the past few days.  So what, what can you POSSIBLY make out of that Inner Arsehole?

I.A.: Dogs know y'know.  They KNOW!


Me: Fuck off, Inner Arsehole.  You can't get me on THIS one....

I.A.: Ok then, ignore the fact that dogs can SMELL CANCER!


Me:  Noooooooo.......

I.A.: The dog is saying her goodbyes to you Lady, you've had it.  Wouldn't be surprised if yours isn't one of those stories you hear about when someone suddenly feels ill and they're dead within 2 weeks.  Just thought I'd mention it.


Me: I HATE you Inner Arsehole.  There's a big part of me that pays no attention to the poison you spread and 'sides, most cancers can be easily treated and cured nowadays!

I.A.: ...but not yours and there's always that little part of you which quietly believes me and that's what makes my day.  Right, I'm off now to tell your 'Mental Health' work sistah/colleague that she's got arm cancer, Wisdom Tooth cancer and the BIG disease which we cannot name....


Y'know, I even 'heard' the newspaper report in my head which heralded the Tidiness Nazi and my untimely deaths in a car crash today.  I then thought about whether any of my internet based friends would come and visit me in hospital whilst I lay in the inevitable coma I'll find myself in (should I survive).  I started to worry that people will visit too soon and I won't have lost any weight from only being fed via a drip.  Hell, I need to be looking pale and tragic at this point, not fat and bloated.  I imagine myself to look like a Disney princess in my hospital bed.  Hey, I wonder if someone could get Aidan Turner from Being Human to come and talk to me - once I'd lost some weight and before my muscles go a bit atrophied of course.  It'd just be my luck that he'll fall hopelessly in love with me and I won't have a bleedin' clue.  Great innit?  The reality is, he'd have to have some weird fetish for short, strange, crap haired comedians to fall for me.  Oh yeah, talking about hair - mine is really curly and tangles really easily.  If the nurses brush my hair for the visit I'll have a dreadful frizzy 'fro thing.  Hang on - here's my coma contingency plan

Coma Contingency Plan:

• Ensure nurses don't brush my hair when it's dry.  It needs to be washed, heavily conditioned, given a quick spray of Frizz Ease and then left to dry naturally before being teased into shape with the fingers.  Oh God - the NHS would NEVER do that.  They wouldn't SHAVE it off would they?  I'd look like a frickin' biker.
• MEN - DO NOT READ THE NEXT POINT!  Sometimes, us ladies get a few stray facial hairs which need plucking out.  Please, someone check me over and fix my eyebrows before Aidan shows up.  If you can't get Aidan, Alex Zane would be my next choice; he'll probably be easier to get too as Aidan is in New Zealand filming The Hobbit.  Any way, what I'm saying is, can someone make sure I don't have a goddam BEARD when either of these attractive young men show up to try and wake me from my coma please?  No one wants to turn a handsome man gay after the terrifying realisation that women could be quite so repulsive.
• Could someone also ensure I don't have hairy pits or legs and perhaps put me in my favourite Cookie Monster underpants please?  Whilst they've never proved it to me yet, I like to think of them as my lucky pants.
• Ensure I don't have breath which smells like I've been eating shit all day.

That should do it.  Thanks guys.  I feel better now.

UPDATE: ALEX ZANE, VIA TWITTER, HAS AGREED TO COME AND TALK ME OUT OF A COMA IF NECESSARY.  HE SOUNDED RATHER SURPRISED BUT HAS INDEED AGREED.  I LOVE IT WHEN A PLAN COMES TOGETHER!  

Too much thinking

I've been really twitchy today. Weirdly twitchy in the kind of way I felt a bit like I wanted to shout out random abusive words or jump high into the air and kick like a Ninja (in my mind I'd have looked like a Ninja. In reality I'd have looked a complete dick). I did ease some of the pressure by calling my sort of 'mental health twin' work colleague a motherfucker, a wanker and a moron. Don't worry, she appreciated it and we laughed heartily as we abused each other in the office. I seem to recall being called a tosser, a twat and an arsehole.

At lunch time I went upstairs to the staff room and ended up laughing loudly in the face of another work colleague who had been sitting there quietly eating an orange. I, in fact, could not stop laughing for a while when I realised I'd walked into a previously quiet room in minor hysterics and had therefore shocked a colleague. If you can't shock a colleague every day then I don't know WHAT you can do! I felt I had to offer her some sort of explanation as I then became, through my tears of laughter, paranoid that SHE would be paranoid that I was laughing at her. The thing is, as I'd run up the stairs I'd got the handle of a spoon in my mouth (yeah, well....I could have just held the spoon but I've got a life to lead and it was all too much effort to use a gripping action at lunch time), and, as I'd bounced up the stairs I remembered the thing at school where people always yell that you shouldn't run with a pen in your mouth or with scissors in your hand. I was then whisked away into another reverie where I could see myself falling backwards on the stairs with a look of shock on my face, spoon handle still in my mouth and arms flailing as I blindly tried to grip at something to stop me from falling. I then saw myself lying crumpled at the bottom of the stairs sort of dead with a spoon handle jammed into the roof of my mouth and either out of my eye or into the base of my brain (yeah, my own demise - hysterical. These flashes only lasted for about 6 stairs. Wonder if I achieved some sort of ridiculous reverie record). I, of course, shared this with my bewildered colleague who really didn't see what was so funny and I agree, it wasn't really funny but y'know, it sorta was. You should have seen the look on my face as I was falling - BRILLIANT!

She then, in a flash of weird paranoia (this is what my place of work is like) said I can't die on the stairs as they'd all think she'd pushed me. I agreed and said I would therefore intend to live and I'd blame her only no one would understand what I was saying as I'd have a big fuck-off hole in the roof of my mouth. As I impersonated how I'd sound, my colleague was busy worrying about how she'd get the blame for it all and said I would still be able to write my blame for her down and then she'd lose her job. I totally love the fact my mid-morning insanity spread to another. I am also proud that I recognise that my mind hasn't been right today. Hello, I'm Sketty and today my mental health is a bit fragile in a freaky rather than sad kind of way!

So, after lunch time my twitchiness continued and I shared with my original (and complicit) work colleague that I often fantasise about throwing myself to the floor and screaming loudly over and over whilst twitching and flailing about. She agreed that this would be lovely. I then asked whether, when she's dealing with an arsehole or someone really moaning and it saps your will to live, whether she's ever suppressed the desire to just flash her vadge at them by way of a response before just walking away. She laughed and said that it would be brilliant.

Then, to be serious we discussed that these were the thoughts of proper crazy people and that the only thing that set us apart was our 'self control chip'. We're both hypochondriacs so we then spent the rest of the afternoon silently worrying that as we grew older our 'chips' might start to fail and then we would genuinely become like those people who walk around town shadow boxing at the heavens, flashing our 'lady garden areas' at strangers or randomly shouting or laughing. Or, right - the 'chip' might just fail during times of stress and we would (I say 'we', on reflection, I was doing most of the talking and my colleague may have been humouring me. Nah, she was right there with me!) just do it at work and wreck our careers!

Bloody hell, I got debts and she wants a new car!

Mental Health Colleague started to bite her bottom lip with worry and said that we'd get taken away and put away somewhere. This in fact sounds lovely. Taken away and put in a bed (with Valium? She'd asked, perking up) YES.

"So Sketty, where do you see yourself in 5 years time?"

"Medicated and in a secure unit please!"

Lovely. I hope the dinners are nice.

I now have to discuss why I posted all of this on-line with myself. I think it was cathartic - I needed to get rid of it all just so I can lay the twitchiness to rest. I do actually feel better but I did go to the gym for the first time since just before I went away. It broke my heart but I had to go. I've noticed that over time I've lost weight and toned up somewhat by my stupid tits remain the same ridiculously gigantic size. Stupid tits :(