vermin

YOU CLICKED! You do love me!

Okay. Say I need to be at work for 9.50am. I get up at half past eight, perform my morning routine and am generally scampering out the door in a state of minor panic, because it takes me twenty five minutes to comfortably walk to work and I have inevitably left myself with only fifteen.

<<<<<<<<<<<< Rewind. Let's try that again.<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Say I need to be at work for 9.50am. I get up at seven o'clock, an hour and a half earlier than yesterday. I perform my morning routine. Each activity takes the same amount of time it took to do yesterday - of course it does. I'm doing exactly the same thing for fuck sake. So I finish brushing my teeth, happy to be ready to go SO much earlier than yesterday. I check the clock.

I have fifteen minutes to get to work.

WHAT THE FUCK, UNIVERSE?

Something else I have noticed about this phenomenon is the way being late affects the environment. It's incredible. When I am late, it's as if my universe has become localised. My reality has shrunk into an aura of fail that I cannot escape. Let's see how this works.

EARLY

- The bus comes exactly on time, with nobody on it, and I have the exact change in my pocket.

- When I get off the bus, there is enough of a gentle breeze to toss my hair around so I feel a bit like I'm in a L'oreal advert.

- Arriving at my destination, my makeup still has that freshly-applied look, my hair has been sexily tousled by the breeze and I generally feel pretty good. As I have a little time to spare I might treat myself to some window shopping. Or something.

Now let's see what happens if I'm
LATE

- Don't be stupid, I already missed the bus. And even if I hadn't it would be late anyway.

- My keys have mysteriously vanished from my handbag.

- My purse has mysteriously vanished from my handbag.

- In the process of looking for my keys and purse, my handbag mysteriously vanishes.

- WHY WON'T THE FUCKING DOOR OPEN

- I struggle against a force ten gale, my hair whipping shaggily about my face, while everyone else appears to have some sort of invisible force field around them which keeps their hair and clothing miraculously in place. Obviously a localised reality means a localised weather system, and this one seems to confirm my fears that the Universe does indeed hate me.

- I arrive at my destination looking not unlike the forest-dwelling offspring of a madwoman and a druid and spend the rest of the day in the kind of bad mood that makes PMS seem like a fucking birthday party.

So there you have it. The Chronophage is drawn by hidden desires of self-sabotage. He can smell it from miles away. It's like going diving with sausages strapped to your face. And you know what?

It fucking pisses me off.