Drugs need U. If you take the ‘u’ out of drugs, what have you got? Drgs. Ever heard anyone get addicted to drgs?
Once again drug regulation is in the press.
I have nothing to say that has not already been said.
I wish only to state that I hate being reminded of the impotence of reason and the power that the outraged, ill-informed, media-sensationalised majority wield over us.
Elsewhere, a woman pinched thirty five pounds or bones or clams from my wallet in a café in Angel last Saturday. I pretended to have been outraged more at the principle of the theft, but in truth it was agonising over the fun things I could have bought with the money that really got me down.
Today is a sick day. Tomorrow I’ll head back to the office. There is a small chance that I may be able to appeal to get my Teach First placement moved to London. That would be amazing. I need to leave this job soon. Once I move to Walthamstow I’ll look at other options. Something secretarial, perhaps, or administrative. Essentially, a job that requires minimal effort and has no real accountability, where I can earn just about enough to get by. My patience with recruitment and sales in general has most definitely worn out.
I have this one hair that grows on my forehead, about half a centimetre below the roots of my fringe. Not enough to be noticeable to others, but enough to irritate me. I tried to yank it out but it hurt so I stopped and shaved it off instead, which just made it smaller and more annoying. There are four other stray hairs on my body. One at the back of either shoulder, one just below my chin, and another on my right nipple. These hairs go forgotten for months, until one day in the shower I spot one of them, long and ugly, and remember all the others. Perhaps there are more that I have never noticed. Perhaps I have one hair so long that it has run out of space to grow outwards, and has instead started to extend inwards, eventually piercing my internal organs and transforming them into blood-soaked furballs.
I hope not.