Today has been, well, not the best. There were some good parts; like been put in touch with Samsung to do some editing work for them, and then there was warming up yesterday’s pizza for lunch (apparently my diet has…well…died.), oh and an old friend of mine from Georgia State, named Katie Adkins, suddenly found herself thrusted into internet fame due to her featuring in the comedy clip, Too Many Cooks, which according to my news feed became a viral sensation all of a sudden.
Not too shabby.
Then I tried to leave the house, and all hell broke loose. I was already in a bit of a pissed off mood; I had messed with the caffeine levels too much – pushed myself too far, yes I had got to almost 25,000 words on my novel – but I hadn’t got the coffee balance right. So I was in one of those moods where everything seems like it is falling apart, and it also appears that the whole world (despite being inanimate objects) are out to get you, and only you! So you stub your toe on a chair, and kick it back which surprisingly hurts as well – so you then find yourself having some kind of physical altercation with the thing, littered with one-sided expletives, and probably more kicking, and punching – as it just stares at you all…“really, like really?” Then you go to pick out a shirt, and it is tangled up somehow, so the rest of the shirts fall…cue, huge almost suffocating sigh. You put the shirt on back to front, inside out, miss a button…you know the drill; sod’s law. Milk spills, handles come off in your hands, towels don’t cooperate and come flying off the rail for some reason. Everything was just going to shit basically, it was like a carnival crazy house today, except not fun. And I wasn’t paying with any form of currency, I was paying with my fucking SANITY.
It was then that I took a moment to just drink some water, breathe in, and breathe out. Clear my head.
I then lied to myself, saying “ahhh…that’s better.” Although clearly nothing had changed.
The next few minutes went by pretty smoothly, as I was ultra careful, and extra polite to my surroundings. I got to the final stage of doing my hair, and I had decided that I wouldn’t wash it properly as with the way the day was going, I would probably squirt shampoo in my eyes, and make myself blind for life…or even worse, in one eye – and then everyone would call me a pirate…a sham-poo-pirate, a pirate made of poo, who is a sham, because he didn’t get his eye patch through banditry, but instead because he was an idiot who couldn’t wash his hair properly…oh, the gossip, and rumor that would circulate the galleons…I couldn’t cope with all of that. So, obviously I couldn’t let that happen.
So I just brushed it back, in an attempt to renew yesterday’s gel, and grabbed the hairspray to cement it in place. It looked shit, but it wasn’t like I was going anywhere important – just wanted to get out for fresh air, and then a coffee shop for a change of scenery, and hopefully more writing. But my hair wouldn’t agree with me, it kept sprouting up at regular intervals, and down-right refusing to stay down…I would press it, and spray, spray, SPRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY – but then, pop! It would be back up again…as if someone was holding an invisible balloon above my head, charged with static.
To combat this, I brushed it a different way – more spray, spray, spray-spray, SPRAAAAAAAAAAY! Again it would just pop! back up. I think it thought it was being fucking cute, but I can tell you now, I was not amused in the slightest. The room was starting to fill with this obnoxious spray, this horrible gas – it was filling my lungs up, and tasted like urgh…locker rooms.
I tried to just breathe through my mouth instead, but I could taste it too…so I gave one last SPRAAAAAAAAAAY, then combed it back – and stared at this frustrated, and exhausted husk of a reflection that looked back at me. He was begging me to shoot him in the head, so that this day would be over…but instead I marched over to the other side of the room, and picked up a cap – and pulled it over my head.
Done.
As I was packing up my laptop, I decided I would throw out the useless hairspray that had given me so much hassle, I mean if it doesn’t do its job then I don’t need it, right? Well…that’s when I caught sight of the label…Nivea Men: 48 Hour Silver Protect. I threw it in the bin anyway, take that inanimate object – you’re not getting the better of me! And anyway, if I started getting hot-headed over minor details later on, at least I wouldn’t be all sweaty about it…
Well, I wish that was true – but instead I spent the rest of the day, thinking there was some smelly bastard behind me, or in the surrounding area…but each, and every time – it was me.
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John Lee Taggart 
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