Freud, Jung and Horris - Tales of the Psychologically Challenged

Last night on Netflix I watched 'The 5th Wave'...it was quite stunningly dire...I am not going to precis it or even review it other than to say...don't, really don't. It's more the reasons behind watching the TV that is exercising my thoughts.

Currently I am spending roughly 99% of my time in bed...I'm sure that this could be worked out somehow, so out of 24 hours in any given day I must spend...Jeez am I really going to do this...back in a sec, just timing how long a visit to the loo is...1.33 minutes and given my pea sized bladder we are talking at least 10 trips a day so that's 13.3 minutes, One trip to have a shit which has to be at least 4 minutes and another miscellaneous 10 minutes spent doing things like investigating the fridge and generally wandering around aimlessly. So that is 27.3 minutes spent out of my bed per day and 27.3 is...how do you work out percentages?... 24 times 60 is 1440 minutes, 1440 divided by 27.3 is 0.0189583333333 and times 100 is 1.89583333333...so 100 minus 1.89583333333 equals 98.1041666667. Right I wasn't far off, I am spending 98.1% of my time in bed...arse, I can't remember why I was telling you how long I spend in bed...it must have something to do with watching dire movies late at night...fucked if I can remember.

So...anyhow I watched this movie last night that I could not not recommend highly enough..think about it...there is only one reason to watch dire movies and that is to take my mind off what Horris is trying to do to me...what, again?...the plaster cast, Horris is the plaster cast that lives on the end of my leg, he's orange and evil minded.  For some reason Horris does not like my toes, in fact he hates my toes and so what he does is persuade my terribly over stretched brain to imagine that they are terribly sore...bugger,bugger,bugger, how did I not notice that I'd used 'terribly' twice in one sentence. Nothing strange I hear you say, they probably are, we've seen them...they look like they have been beaten into submission by a gentlemen wielding a large club studded with nails.

But...and yet again here is the famous nub... they do not hurt, they are not sore,  this is just an evil plan dreamt up by Horris in the darker reaches of the night and he has collaborated with my brain to persuade me that they do hurt...yes, yes I know I sound like I should be committed, but I can explain. The evil club toed little bastards do not hurt all the time, in fact most of the day when I am trying to master the intricacies of Dependency Injection and the Inversion of Control, they are completely quiescent...yeah I thought that one was pretty good myself, I'm trying to introduce new words to get away from the stranglehold of 'however'...however...bugger, you see, it's impossible...however as soon as my mind is not active, it immediately tells me that my fucking toes are sore...they're not, I can prove it, all I need to do is touch them, even thinking about touching them can sometimes do the trick and they stop hurting.
Toes in the act of not being sore
So...fuck me, 'now so' is getting in on the act. It's only function is as a phatic expression...sorry came over all post moderny and deconstructionalist there...so, I am lying in bed all day long with a psychopathically inclined plaster cast whose entire mission in life is to persuade my under utilised brain to imagine that my toes are sore...which they aren't. There, right there, whilst I was writing this, the ugly little brutes didn't hurt at all, but as soon as I stop thinking about writing and start thinking about stopping writing they start to give me gyp. I hate them and all they stand for!

I am probably in need of a psychologist, I can't spend the next 8 weeks touching my toes to stop my brain trying to hijack my nervous system which results in me not sleeping which in turn results in the watching of utter crap on Netflix which in turn leads to dissembling from the toes which leads to...see its never ending, there is a good chance I'm going to spend the rest of my life clutching my toes like some sort of metatarsally obsessed contortionist.

I've got to go now and try and persuade my toes to give over and let me have some sleep

Cheers

Charlie

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