It was on this high note that I returned home on - albeit completely exhausted, note, coffee is never a replacement for sleep, it will only leave you in a jittery daymare - and so it was in this atmosphere of fulfilled contemplation that I spent most of my evening napping and flicking from brain drain to creativity graveyard on the T.V. On a slight digression, if an hour of television programming can be dedicated to analysing BigFoot footage with Tim and Eric meets CSI computer wizardry (thank you National Geographic... yes you did just read that) then is there, quite honestly, no room in T.V scheduling for more programmes with Womanist agendas?
Often, as one finds in situations like this, where your body has signalled its intentions for no more effort in a day, but your mind has been busily been building new connections all day in a state of neurogenesis, I, at least, find my self shouting from a sofa, or gawking at my laptop, hoping that if I am a) loud enough b) use as Shakespearean a vocabulary as possible, and c) screw my eyes up enough (still waiting for that secret hereditary laser vision to show itself) I will somehow reorder the balance of the universe a little. This is pretty pointless. What is somewhat less pointless - if my degree is anything to go by... ahem - is to write about it, in the hope that you, reader, will also become aware of some of the currish, boil-brained rats-banes I have had the misfortune of encountering.
In particular, there are three people/subjects which have roused a particularly putrid pale of bile in me tonight, so rather than make this blog post seem like the angry ramblings of a bar-stool preacher, I am going to divide it into three parts, in the hope that this will allow some sort of cohesion, and ability for directed, concentrated loathing. I was going to do so originally in the chronological order of who offended me first, but since beginning to write this blog post, new things have offended me, particularly pertinent to the invaluable work Women's Aid and affiliated charities do on a daily basis, so I think perhaps I should start there. Now I am sure you are asking, 'but Scout, why should I ever come back to this blog? Isn't it enough I've read this much? What do I honestly have to look forward to?'. Well I'm glad you asked! In parts 2 and 3, which I assure you, will hit your screens by this time tomorrow - you have to use that anger when it's fresh, or it all gets muddied and or forgotten, as Hemingway once aptly noted, 'There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed' - you will have the privilege of meeting the U.S.A's b*****d child of Britain's own shame, Roy 'Chubby' Brown and Bernard Manning. Also, you can also hear my opinions on how Sega and Japanese video game manufacturers have been making domestic abuse into arcade fun for all the family! But mostly Dad. Mum doesn't have a great time in these games.
|That good you say...|