Distillin' Mi Illin'

Laa-dee-daa. What to write? Nothing. …Well, obviously not nothing – I wrote that previous sentence, didn’t I? – and this one. Wow, aren’t you glad? I’m not, particularly.

…Ergghhh! Man, I’m feeling crappy. Still ill.

I've just finished watching ‘The Benny Hill Show’. Prior to that, I’d watched ‘On The Buses’. Prior to that, it was ‘Are You Being Served?’ And prior to that, ‘Some Mothers Do ’Ave ’Em’. (No ‘George And Mildred’ tonight, though, disappointingly.) All part of Saturday night television’s regular Comedy Classics revue, hosted by some chap called Russell Gilbert whom I think is supposed to be funny but comes across instead as intellectually disabled, the poor dope. I feel awful watching him in case he is being exploited by the TV network somehow.

Anyway, I guess that makes me seem pretty dull, spending my Saturday nights like this, as I do. Yet, I suppose I am a bit dull. No more dull, of course, than anyone else, though. We are but human beings. I try to think of alternative things I could be doing tonight, of what might be more fun. Hmmm? Well, certainly not being ill would be better, for starters. Assuming I was, what then? What does society do? Go out to a pub, drink depressants and talk about inconsequential things and look at asses of people they are almost certainly never going to ball. – Blegghhh! Depressingly drab. Besides, I’ve got enough inconsequential things to think about without having to sit around a bunch of alcoholically retarded fellows exchanging such rubbish.

Um, what else?

Go to the movies. – No more exciting than watching good TV programs like I did tonight. Certainly, I don’t find such activities boring – provided that I am in the right mood – but they’re not exactly what one would deem wild and exciting. But, what is, really? And why do people (myself, at times, included) sometimes (or more often, for some people) feel that life need be wild and exciting? Comfort and contentment are much more tangible emotions.

…Ha! My mood is certainly a bit flat due to my being ill, so apologies to anyone reading this if my tone is coming across as a bit whingey. The fact is that, if you are feeling like it is, you can go take a long jump off a skinny peer – try Nicole Ritchie, if you’re young enough!

Um, what else could one do of a Saturday evening (besides jump off people suffering from eating disorders, what-ho!)? (What ’ho’? I don’t know that she doesn’t give it away. Boom-boom.) Um…

Go over to someone’s house and eat dinner and get pissed. – No more or less dull, really, than doing that at home with one’s partner.

What else?

Go on a date. – Well, that’s not applicable when you already have a partner. Of course, one could go out with the intention of having sex with someone (or someone else, if you’re in a sexually open relationship). – I could find that fun, but only if I were in the mood for it. Sex is overrated, I think. To me, it works nicely as one of life’s delicious side-dishes but the main course must consist of more substantial stuff. I’m interested in what this existential electricity is that passes through my whole body – indeed, my soul – and not just through my genitals. Ultimately, I much prefer having sex than merely having thoughts about it, as, frankly, it really doesn't seem particularly mysterious to me.

What else?

Go and keep reading Henrik Ibsen’s ‘Hedda Gabler’. – Okay, I shall!