Foul mood clouded my Thursday like an ominous blanket soaked in lead and cyanide. It pisses me to no end that I can’t exactly figure out why I’m in such an ill temper. It didn’t help that images of fonder pasts keep on popping in my head like malevolent popcorns that were reeking of impish aroma.

Shut up, I scolded myself, you’re depressed.

Depressed of what? I cannot, for the bleeping life of me, think of a more viable reason. And that annoys me more, fueling my escalating exasperation.

I tried sleeping my frustrations away but my effing phone kept on bleeping distressed messages from all quadrants of hell. Oh, drat.

Tonight I am supposed to attend a dinner with a few friends but I comatosely declined.

Nothing good ever came out of the stuff I’m trying to write about. I can’t blame the climate; it’s been an awesome day. I can’t put culpability towards cosmos; it’s been good to me lately. Boredom hasn’t crept in yet but I’m all set to welcome it any moment it bangs on my doorstep.

It’s just my stinking mood, and it’s Thursday night, and I’m sulking like crazy, hyperventilating like a bona fide maniac.

I am trying to come up with a simple do-it-yourself activity to improve my mood: Shove the earpieces of my iPod in my ear, yank up the volume, and play Metric’s The Twist all day.

One problem: My left ear has gone crackers. Oh well. I shall mull over.


About Kenneth Theodore

I translate ethnic slurs. View all posts by Kenneth Theodore

10 responses to “Moroseness

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