Going Gonzo – Day 3. It’s Day 2 you idiot!

Monday, 28th January 2019.


Ok. It’s not officially “day 3”, but beginnings have beginnings, and verbal diarrhea is a unpredictable bed-friend I have.

I’m avoiding calls from my ex.

I’m too tired.

“But Mark, if you’re tired, why are you writing your pointless, shit-poor, excuse of a blog?”

Good question.

The answer is;

Get yourself a twenty year EX!

Putting my testicles on a butchers board and pounding them with a table tennis paddle, whilst shouting, “WHO’S BEEN A NAUGHTY BOY THEN?” seems less taxing.

Therefore, writing shit is a breeze.


I’ve forgotten what was so important, that I had to start tomorrows blog early????!!??…………….

I’m such a dick sometimes.


I still can’t remember.

It doesn’t matter because I started watching My Science Project.

It’s fucking stupid but it has it’s moments. It does have Dennis Hopper in it!

It takes me to a gentler time. As soon as I found it online and started watching it, I had to tell the only person who would remember it.



We really did watch every dodgy movie in the 80’s!

I blame your dad but, truthfully, it has made me the well rounded, fucked up, invididual I am today.

For that. I salute you.

Tuesday, 29th January 2019.


Now my Spotify payment has bounced. Times are tough. Luckily, because I’m a bit of a twat, I didn’t realise I get paid Thursday. Which means the title of yesterday’s and today’s banter is out by a day. Oh well.


I’ve bitten the bullet I’m on hold with the taxman.


After 25 minutes, I finally got through to an actual human being. Or, at least, as close as you can talking to the tax office. They were no help but at least I’ve explained my situation. I have to ring back to organise paying it.

I made the effort.

The last credit card vendor rang me too. All that’s left is await payday. I did a quick add up of outgoings.

I should come out of it with a monkey. I knew it would be tough. By February payday, the universe will have righted itself.


Crap lunch done. Back to the grind. I now have around 6 quid left to my name.



I’m now finding it, near on, impossible to concentrate on anything. I should feel better about things with payday looking but I’m distracted.

I feel slightly sick. Anxiety sick.

C’MON! C’MON! COME THE FUCK ON! Pull it together.


I came home a little early. I had to have my monthly catch up with the ex and, truthfully, needed to rest my brain. The project I am working on is a real strain. Even more so, now I have found out I shouldn’t be doing it. It’s not part of my job spec but the owner asked me to help. So I helped. Soon, I’ll get back to what I should be doing and be able to define what is solely my responsibility, what is joint and what is fuck all to do with me.

Yesterday, one of the engineer’s vans was broken into. Nothing was taken. The miscreants legged it when the alarm went off. The reason I bring it up is it has put a shift on me getting my van. Yay! Free travel!


Even though I am amidst all this other shit, I have started the brief outline of a blowout plan for the weekend.

Nothing out of the ordinary but if it all goes to plan, I’ll be braindead by 18.30, Friday.


I just went to Carter’s to borrow a tenner for fags and a sheet of diazepam.

The day is over.

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