Wednesday 6 July 2011

Half Arsed. Not All It's Cracked Up To Be. Get It.........?

Well, after 4 years, a deep cut to my right index finger, 3 splinters and a whooooole lot of swearing, the shed is finally up.

I know. Swearing! You'd never have thought it of me,would you! The thing is, this is one of those metal jobs. Less shed, more tin can. It doesn't have keys, it has a tin opener. And like everything in my life, has been built in a 'half arsed' fashion. One fart gentle breeze in the wrong direction, and this bugger is gonna be in a different postcode. Or several. At the same time.

Half arsed. It seems to be my middle name at the moment. So as it happens, is 'half mast'. And in case you were wondering, yes it IS to do with only getting things half up. Or half down, depending on the time between those little tablets that help to 'improve the circulation' in parts that need helping. You could say a kinda glass half empty, half full situation I guess.

Anyway enough of my physical 'limitations'. Half arsed. It seems the older I get, the less I wanna do stuff. And when I was younger I didn't wanna do much! Now it seems, my 'get up and go' hasn't so much got up and gone, as gone to bed, left a 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door, and set the alarm for 2025.

The year, not the time.

Now, if you are my boss reading this, you are probably gonna be phoning me pretty damn early in the morning, with some encouraging motivational speech about removing digits from my rectum, and to 'Show a bit of willing'. However, with my hearing as shot as it is, the chances are, I will misunderstand you, put the phone down, and wonder why you've asked me to expose myself, having mistaken the word 'willing' for 'willy'.

I mean, my sales figures are crap at the moment, but I fail to see what showing customers my 'chap' would hope to achieve. Short of hysterical laughter, pointing and reaching for a magnifying glass green eyed envy, admiration from the ladies and being asked to stop doing tripod impressions on their premises.

But rest assured boss, the mere thought of your size 12's making contact with my hairy, spotty arse is motivation enough for me to give it my all at work. No half arsed behavior there, I can assure you!

Ironically, talking of my arse, that's another place that the half arsed thing has managed to bypass. It seems middle age spread as descended on my derriere like the proverbial flies around the brown, turd shaped objects that falls out of my dog with frightening regularity.

Yet again, I digress. See? Even my blog writing is half arsed! Or no arsed, if you look when I last did one of these. But that sums it all up really. I have enjoyed writing my blogs, almost as much as you haven't enjoy reading them, but you read them anyway out of shear wide eyed wonder at what was gonna spill from my brain next. And pity. (Jeez, FINALLY you say. He's gonna quit filling our lives with this crap! Well sorry, you ain't that lucky).

So, all this half arsedness (yes it is a bloody word. It's my blog, and what I say goes OK?) stuff that's going on in my life has left me wondering. Is it the next stage of my mid life crisis? I have had a week off from the running thing. My legs were hurting, and just got to the point where they had put in a transfer request. Apparently, one of the dining chairs had made them an offer. So I decided to give them a break. This has lead to a calorie surplus being created about my person. Which has set up home around my belly. And my arse.

I've even had to stop wearing a belt. Every time I put one on, I look like the number eight!

I was chatting to someone tonight, about how much I felt I had 'bloated out' this last week, from not running. He suggested that I was full of energy, and ready to hit the road once more. Well, I've got news for you pal. I am full of a lot of things. Crap, wind and all the other fun stuff. But I'm not sure that energy is one of them.

Anyway, I believe I have traumatised you more than enough for one day. And mentioned the word 'arse' about as many times as I feel is satisfactory.

As for the half mast thing I mention earlier........it's probably best we keep that between ourselves OK?

P.T.F.O.