Sprung, Riz, Etc.

I was shocked, shocked, to discover the other day that my good name is being used as a synonym for behaving like a car-trashing, early 90's Shannen Doherty. For shame people, when did it become bitchy to merely say the truth? To tell it As It Is? Is anyone telling Fox News that they are bitches? No indeed.

However since people have seen fit to label me, so I see fit to say:



If this spring, sap*- rising rootathon that is happening around me does not stop soon I will take up a gun. Possibly in manner of Annie/I Spit On Your Grave/that song about the homecoming queen. Possibly in manner of Natural Born Killers. It depends if I find someone who can drive or not. Never before have the vicissitudes of the seasons so wholeheartedly been embraced by my friends. We've had the emotional spring clean. We've had the emotional (or not) infanglement. We've had the sleepless nights due the overwhelming Springness. Some of us have had it all and some of us, not so much. Either way I am scandalised to watch weather dictate temprement to such an extent. Where is our ironic distance? Where is our city-dwelling unconcern with nature? Surrounded as we are by hectare after hectare of cement how are we so easily turned into frisky animals? We are meant to be turning into machines, friends, and not machines of rooting.

The day that I find myself swapping ideas for sex in public places with friends (the library as apposed to doing it in toilets of a bar for example) is the day that I start to suspect the party train might be pulling out too far** into spring fever madness.

This is totally not the future that was promised by The Matrix etc. Definately not what The Children of Men had in mind.



*n.b. possible metaphor

**seriously, I have no idea either.