I’m the weight on your shoulders…

I just love the new P&O advert.

I’m not a cruiser myself, I can’t imagine ever getting on some big boat  after paying £xxxxx just to watch films in a floating cinema. I just think there’s something beautiful within it and also something quite sad. To use the age old metaphor, it’s bittersweet. It’s painful.

Here I go.
I’m easing off all the time.
Some here, more there.
I’m falling away faster now.
Getting lighter…
and lighter…
and lighter…
until poof… I’m gone.
Because I’m the weight on your shoulders and I’ll disappear along the way.

Maybe it’s the guy’s voice. I’ve always had a thing for guys voices. Hugh Grant for example. I’d love him to just swear at me. And Hugh Laurie. Most Hughs.

I ignore the last line of the “poem”. I can imagine dying. Slipping quietly away. I can see my own images flicking through the advert, those pretty girls are absent and it’s me there in slow motion “falling away faster now” as I drop slowly. It’s in slow motion. My death is a work of bloody art.

Sickly last line. Oppressively so.  A little too commercial, which yes is apt because it is an advert, but for the purpose of thought I’ve rather scrub the softener.

Maybe obviously I’m feeling pretty shit today. I’m not naturally a swearer by the way, I’m just not feeling all too fluent in explaining my head-antics. I’m tired, I’m low. Very low. Perhaps foolishly I’m hoarding my Zopiclone, which yes blocks me from the benefits of sleep, but in the long run I can’t imagine sleep being the big issue.

Everyone always says you’ve got to look at the bigger picture. I’m looking. I’m seeing my life flashing by in an ad-break, albeit beautifully crafted. It’ll be in black and white. It’ll be whispered. It’ll win some award, and only you will know it’s real meaning. Feel special? Inside jokes just like Alice and Wonderland.

I’m going to try unload as much of this weight as possible. I can’t hope to be as idealistic as the P&O art department, they’re painfully up there in the optimism scale. I’d certainly say drugs were involved somewhere and all I have is ill effecting escitalopram to emulate smiles, beaches and swings. I’m at a disadvantage. A terrible disadvantage. I am a disadvantage.

Today, I floated my way to college. Listening to Portishead, all three albums, over and over. I like repetition. I kept catching myself walking with my eyes closed. I felt/feel so out of it, above it, in the clouds, cloudy. I’m murky, like the water is when you wash the paint off your brush. So many colours, yet now they’re merging into one big, bleak hue of something evil. Again. I want to be a rainbow again.

The people were in chemistry today. We were meant to be fiddling around with sodium nitrate and sodium hydroxide and hydrochloric acid. I have a phobia of chemicals. A phobia of fire. A phobia of this and that. I live my days fearful. Indeed, choosing chemistry A level probably wasn’t a good move considering. Especially not today. He wanted us to wear safety glasses and gloves. I didn’t want his fucking gloves, I wanted to swallow down the contents of all the pretty bottles. I felt uneasy. Unsafe. I still do. I stood at the front for an hour recoiling from all these people waving their concoctions in my face. It felt taunting. I felt that they had my solution in their hands. I couldn’t get it. They must of been watching, ever those who I couldn’t see and thinking how stupid I looked. Hanging on to the front desk like a child. Like an idiot.