Oh, these chemical imbalances, this hormonal whorishness. All day I am on the brink of girlish tears. I'm pretty sure it's not the rejection of the Lisbon Treaty, though the waves of anger which I am also experiencing have found a convenient target in the car radio as yet another ignoramus opines that we can 'go back and get a better deal'.
'There is no better fucking deal, you stupid stupid cunt!', I screamed on the toll bridge today. 'There was no conscription, there was no abortion, there was no extra corporate tax. You fuck. You stupid, stupid fuck.'
My window was open, paying my €1.65 as I was. The toll-taker looked more amused than anything else, the 'No' voting prick.
But like I say, I don't think that the tremendous tedium of this result has anything to do with the way that I feel. This way that I feel where every slight slight is a grievous insult, every minor mishap a major crisis. But I believe that I do know what it is about.
It's about a something that is missing, that try as I might, I cannot seem to find. It's an omission, a gap. A gap that has been mostly filled for the last few years by various activities, like training and over-training, drinking and over-drinking, and fake god fucking help me, by bleughing. This gap is growing now, gaping. The fillers are no longer sufficiently filling. My dam against this loss is cracking and I fear that there will be drownings.
So yeah, anyway, what should I call my new bike?