Wednesday, June 01, 2011

will life ever be fun and exciting again?


To: thedove@gmail.com
From: peasontoast@gmail.com
Re: does your life suck?

...Cos mine does a bit. And dude, will LIFE EVER BE FUN AND EXCITING EVER AGAIN?! NOW WE JUST PANT [sic] THE HOUSE TO PASS THE TIME AND FRANKLY, I'D RATHER BE SMOKING.
LESS PAINTING, MORE SMOKING.


It's been 15 days.

Cigarette free. I'm battling more than the Brit is. I thought this might happen.

To be honest? I don't think I've been more depressed than I am now. Well actually, that's a lie. I was more depressed last week when I lay on my bed sobbing and mourning the loss of my favourite cancer sticks in the whole world.

I was probably more depressed when I got attemptedly hi-jacked a few years ago and was too scared to leave the house. Yeah. Those were some good times.

The Brit and I aren't fighting over brochures anymore; we've found a twist in...our sobriety.

How we paint.

Yes, we're still fucking painting. Lemme tell you, once this painting "Oh my God I'm turning into a Satanist" malarky is done, Ima gonna light one motherblowing fat cigar eat 8000 hydrophonically-grown skunk brownies.

The Brit is very particular with his paint job. It has to be primed, with a mohair roller. First.

Frankly, this is how I see it: Paint the primer on with a rag. Dab it on blindfolded. It's the shit under the main paint. No-one. Is. Going. To. See. It. Anyway.

You can see where this is going. He takes a year to paint the cupboard door; I take five minutes.

Not that my paintwork is bad. I refuse to deprecate my paintwork. It's just more efficient.

So. The Brit isn't letting me paint the cupboards anymore.
I got home and this is how he approached it: "Babe, you just relax. Take a bath, pour us a glass of wine. I'll do the cupboards tonight."

Oh my God, he is the best boyfriend ever. He is the winning lottery ticket of boyfriends. He wants me to relax? Kick back? Shoot the breeze? While he paints [with his shirt off?]

You don't have to tell me twice.

And then I realised why. It's because he thinks he does a better paint job than I do. That's why. He doesn't want me to blemish the cupboards when his artwork is so much better more OCD.

Sigh. I love the man.

But, if I was a smoker, I'd smoke. Now that I'm a non-smoker and I threw all the time I wasted into painting, what the fuck do I do now?

Ah. That's right.

I eat.

7 comments:

Secret said...

PUT THAT COOKIE DOWN!!!!!!!

Peas on Toast said...

Dude. What am I going to stuff my face with? Seriously?! STUFFING MY FACE WITH CELERY ISN'T THE SAME AS A COOKIE!!

Flarkit said...

Is a spare tyre worth the slight sugar rush? Stuffing of the face isn't the only effective replacement for moving the cancer-stick to your lips :)

Howabout slapping your forehead every time you're agitated? Or picking your nose? Or why not rub some handcream into your hands, you'll have the softest hands in all Brittannia!

Secret said...

Granted. Sugar coated strawberries? Thats a bit better than a cookie.
What is that cheesy saying my mom keeps repeating to me? "A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips"...
Put the cookie down dear. :P

Peas on Toast said...

ARRGH! Grumble grumble, I can't eat, I can't smoke.

WHAT THE HELL IS THERE TO LIVE FOR?!

A ha!
WINE!

Flarkit said...

All things in moderation's my line. Certainly applies to the fun stuff like cake and booze. But should also be applied to the bad stuff, like stress and stupid forehead-slapping numbnuts!
:D

Spear The Almighty said...

I'm 9 months clean. I still miss it everyday...Good luck!