December 22 (Wednesday): Who’s Got The Crack? I wake up feeling like death, of the back of only a couple of hours sleep. My intestines still churn up and almost make it hard/difficult to breath. Eating breakfast is beyond the question, it would just get shredded in my insides along with the life that is being destroyed within me internally right now. This is the aftermath of a Rocket Fuel coffee binge.

I recuperate by pretty much doing nothing. Today turns out to be a write off and a real wasted day. In the morning I watch the downloaded Harold And Kumar which takes me into the afternoon where Channel Four appears to be showing the Last Starfighter, a real relic from my youth.

I wake up annoyed this morning, that neither Acme nor the accountancy firm in Hadleigh ever bothered to get back to me on the outcome of the interview I had there two Thursdays ago. By now it is obvious my interview/application was unsuccessful but for some reason this morning this niggles me and I feel out for blood. I sent the accountancy firm a snide email, directly to the geek stiff that interviewed me. Eventually, around midday, he sends back an insincere apology email. I feel like going to him “your loss” but I don’t, I’m a good guy.

Acton hits me on MSN and tells me how, when he got in last night after a second night’s binge drinking, he set about composing a soundtrack on his keyboard to Witness, which happened to be on TV at the time. It sure makes a fine barn.

Wasn’t I supposed to be doing things today? I forget as once more my stomach creaks and I ache from the inside out.

The afternoon comes around and time for the excruciating shopping trip with my parents ahead. For some reason mum really wants to buy me a new coat (which granted is needed). However, I think I just about capable of buying one myself, I bought my last coat myself and I think between then and now I have managed to maintain the tools to purchase another one. However, I give in because if she’s there when I buy it (my Christmas present) she’ll be the once paying (I’m such a slag). She insists that Burtons has the coats but when I went there on Sunday they were without. Last night I told her this on the phone, and that I really didn’t want to be fucking about with it today, but none of this registered.

I tie myself up in the middle (like a sack of shit) and head into town in the foulest of moods. I only wind myself up further when I find myself unable to get parked and once I do, I find myself with a lengthy skulk into town ahead of me, all on a bad head. In the end however, I don’t actually turn up too late, just enough to receive a “where the fuck are you?” phonecall (always a winner that). When I hook up with the olds (at Next), I have a face like thunder. Immediately the old man makes jibes about my pout and I reciprocate in comments and he storms off in a fucking mood. Mum just stands there looking distressed and immediately I feel like a shit. I point out, as I said on the phone last night, I checked out this shop for coats Sunday and there were none but again she ain’t listening, instead she emotionally blackmails me into looking at a coat that was supposedly in the stock room (so the manager said). We go up (still without dad in sight) and she gets the assistance to get the coat from out back and surprise surprise it is just like all the other coats on the racks. What a fucking waste of time. She asks me what is up and I point out that I am a bit busy right now to just be wasting time like this, if she hadn’t forgotten, I am still unemployed and without any fucking money to pay my bills with. We return downstairs to the entrance of the store and by now the old has returned. After all this drama I now feel obliged to appease them but they now don’t want anything to do with me (and likewise). I get let go and permission to return home but I just feel devastated over how shitty and guilty I am made to feel just when I can’t do everything they want in order to keep them happy. The older I get, the more like Kevin The Teenager I appear to come.

Upon getting home, Tom immediately hits me on MSN commenting about the Chloe Sveginy/Vincent Gallo blowjob in that movie that has still to be released (Brown Bunny). I can’t say I’m overly fussed either way but I do download it for a peak. And its crap. Tom argues, “surely it’s porn” and looking at it, it is explicit and disgusting. I argue that it isn’t porn because of the intended audience (and use) but I don’t convince myself with that argument. And boy does Chloe look a bit useless at giving head. Amateur.

Deflated over the afternoon (my parents have the worst effect/hold over me), I stagger into the evening almost by accident. I wind up watching Property Ladder on Channel Four, just to make sure I still can’t afford a nice home. And I’m right, looks like another five years in this crappy little flat for me (that is unless of course I can finally grab me a rich girlfriend/wife).

In the distance I hear my landline ring and I can’t be arsed to go answer it because it can only be a cold caller or trouble, so I continue watching my makeover problem (what am I turning into?). Then however my mobile rings and it is mother (as expected) asking me what is up. In these times where I feel like shit I just need to be left alone, not fucking pestered by people who bring down with their own problems adding to my plate. And I realise it is all with good intention but it doesn’t work, in times like these, I’m not a good person for caring and sharing. I try not to say it but I fail and I snap the truth “you just bring me down”. Ouch. We plough on and now I find myself having to cheer her up as I attempt to convince her that I don’t need her to cheer me up. As the old regime goes, I don’t know who worries more about who, them about me or me about them. And this I guess is the dynamic with families, its all well intentioned but ultimately destructive as the unit cannot always serve the individual as the best method/option of reconciliation. The call ends with me finding myself once more suffocating and withdrawing (intentionally) at the hands of my relatives.

The night plods on and I jack in for the evening, watching more bad TV, this time the Max And Paddy, which I actually have a lot of time for. Then there is also a comedy drama called The Last Chancers starring one of Adam And Joe (Adam) about an indie band trying to make it in an unimpressed world. Rings bells.

np: 2 Banks Of 4 – One Day