The ever boil was lanced and gunk shot out the side and top. The during was the worst part, for the fucker had risen to where nerve endings are and the squeeze pain was exquisite. So intense that after it stopped, and the area now drained was less hurty than before, that I got an epic post-pain high. I keep walking around marvelling at just how fucking painful that was but that it's not happening now.
Articles from Harrangue Man
Sometimes when you have OCPD, PTSD, anxiety and depression and you go for a ride and a think you may end up in a state of disassociation. I had one on the lake ride, with angry crying and carrying a crippling amount of emotional baggage.
The alchemist looks like my friend A---.The urchin looks like a guy I went to the all boys Dickensian fuckthemupforlife factory with.And the person on the ring of protection card looks like Will Ferrell.If you play it long enough these things become clear.AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
I spent five minutes with my left hand under cold running water then rested the burned fingers in a plastic cup of water as well. It was only quick thinking that avoided blisters.My right hand had been shaking as the also shaking left hand held the bottle and that's how I came to pour boiling water on my fingers. That's down to the PTSD and meds.Workplace mental health injury can lead to actual physical injury.Isn't that a delight?!It's not; it's fucked.
That's where my pants went in the ALDI carpark and it was only my jacket tail that kept my tail from view. It was a risk to go out in short shorts and PJs in that both systems could fail if they went below my waistline and that's exactly what happened.Fortunately no one noticed.I can only imagine tne horror of what it does look like.
I bent to gather skin shards from the carpet from my juddering attempts to stop picking my feet now I've stopped going at my face---the habit just went somewhere it cannot be seen.As I stood up my right forehead crunched into a projecting cupboard edge.It felt as it it had impaled my head in the second it happened but it was just an ouch and no blood.
The brown silkie's feathers were obscuring her vision—her feathers like thick hair to the look and touch. She kept getting hassled by the others and I figured it was 'cos they could sneak up on her. I've never given a chicken a haircut before; it's not a bucket list thing—it's just a thing. But still, not something you usually do. I'm Just Cuts for hens—plus I then sold her a ridonk amount of product at 40 per cent above retail.Stupid chicken.
It was a clear mid-afternoon when I set out and I came back in the hour before dusk where all is in stark relief, shadows stretching. The sky held a waxing moon and though the first chemtrail wasn't headed in the direction it felt for a moment I was in the twenty-first century the twentieth envisioned with rockets to the moon—a moon where you could see the shadow of the full sphere.
I saw a 15 second ad for the Cadbury Twirl. It featured an attractive woman in a subway car peeling the plastic away to reveal the Twirl's sexy sides, pulling out one or both of the bars up and then taking a bite. Then she's suddenly transported via chocolate-infused extreme hallucinogens to sitting on the back of a carousel horse as the carousel goes around.Also she's now wearing a beautiful yellow dress and the Twirl is still in her hand.I call bullshit.