Couldn't care less, it's COULDN'T care less!

I'm not sure why but it really annoys me when I'm reading a book and the phrase 'could care less' appears.

I think if someone has been published, they, or their editors could at least check the phraseology is correct. It's not like the commonly mis-spoken 'another thing coming' (which should be 'another THINK coming' as it is a deliberate play on the words that come before i.e. 'if you THINK that, then you have another THINK coming'.) I get that mistake, as both kind of flow logically in an illogical way, but saying 'I could care less' which effectively means you have to care some, for there to be 'less' to care about, when you mean you don't care at all just smacks of laziness to me.

As do repeated phrases for example I read a really great book but this happened twice - '...she sighed with relief, she sighed relieved...'. Actually now I'm reading that to myself, maybe I'm wrong, and the author wants to emphasise her heroine's relief by having her panting like a dog. I know that it's just bad editing, as I have written a sentence ten different ways whilst working on my Magnum Opus, and I can imagine the writer trying both versions, but surely someone should have picked this up before unleashing it onto the unwary innocent public.

Don't these authors re-read their own work? And if they can't be bothered to read it, why should I?

This rant is based mainly on the ebooks I read, and they're mostly romances, the majority of which are good, but there are two prolific writers who are just dreadful...I imagine they're like the 'Little Britain' caricature of Barbara Cartland and churn out these God-awful 'books' in one hour, no spell check, no checking to see if the plot makes sense, no attempt to give their characters likable personalities.

That said, I still have yet to finish any of the books I've attempted to write, so although I can and I have criticised I really shouldn't.

Life is something that happens when you can't get to sleep.*

I'm not sleeping at night, instead I'm watching infomercials. I remember seeing my first one whilst I was on holiday in the US, it was Tony Little and I found it hilarious. That was before I even knew what an infomercial was, I had watched it for 20 minutes before I realised they were selling something.

The presenters are just SO enthusiastic, I think I'm hoping they'll tire me out. My favourites are the ones which have no possible real world applications. They remind me of 'Chindogu' (I think that's what they're called). The 'Go Duster' is a prime example of this, it sounds like a good idea but who's really that lazy - it's a duster which spins and apparently makes dusting fun by giving you "an uncontrollable urge to dust". It sounds like the beginning of an anti dusting-addiction government film 'The dangers of dusting'.

I also write when I'm up at night, I'm trying to write a book, I know everyone thinks they have a book inside them but I figure if I finish it that'll be an achievement in itself. I only managed some completely off topic poems though. I did write in my first post that my poetry is twee and maudlin so you have been warned...again.


What Price?
I do not value my self at all.
It does come as quite a shock.
That I did not realise before,
was obviously a mental block.

I have thought of death as my one salvation
It’s not anymore; I want to live.
I have had an existence up to now
It’s not enough; I want to live

I want to have friends I want to have love
I want to be loved.
I want to be loved by me and another.
I want to be liked.

I want someone to know exactly what I’m like yet
Still want to be with me…

Always.

The below is rambling prose, I'm going to put everything up here, I like the idea of it's permanence. I used to be a cutter, I guess I still am, I haven't done it in months but I do think about, recently I think about it often.

I want to cut again, I find this so lonely.
I have nothing to spare me pain, I have nothing, nobody between me and Them.
They’re everywhere, pressing down on me, suffocating me, hating me, without the cutting I can’t release Them from my mind.
They just stay and fester – filling slowly with noxious deadly ‘stuff’, bloating up and out like a dead body dredged from a river 2 months after jumping. I try to ignore Them but the stench burns my eyes, and makes me cry.
I tell myself I'm better than this, but I don’t truly believe it.
I tell myself that if I ignore Them they’ll go away and I’ll have won, but I don’t truly believe it.
I tell myself They’re not really there and I'm imagining things, but I don’t truly believe it.

*Fran Lebowitz

What's My Major Malfunction?

I've been fired. I've never been fired before...I feel like shit. I'm 29 in a few days and for the first time since I was 16, I'm out of work.

Well that's not strictly true, before I got this job I had a kind of break down and was out of work for 15 months - I don't really count that as I left my job at the time, and was signed off work. I can edit my life as I see fit. Right?

Well I'm jobless now, that's not in any doubt, I said I'd appeal, but I'm just so tired right now. I hate them for making me feel this way. I was there for almost 5 years, I told them about my illness right from the start, and now I've been turfed out because of it.

I'm just so mad right now, I'm mad, angry, tired, frustrated.

I've never been unemployed through a recession, I'm scared as well, how am I going to survive.

Last time I was signed off work I had to go to that soul destroying benefits office. Just entering the door makes me feel like a low life loser. I don't think people on benefits are losers, but the place is horrific. Maybe they make it that way to discourage you from claiming, I know I could feel the desperation and hopelessness dripping off the walls, when I was there.

It just makes you feel like you've failed at life, the ultimate 'headmaster's office'. You go in there with your head down desperately trying to explain why you have failed, when it seems the whole wide world has succeeded.

'What's your major malfunction!?' You can see the gainfully employed person behind the bullet proof plexiglass thinking this. I then have to reiterate my illness and give them a rough timeline - it has to be rough as time to me is truly relative. Then they nod smugly as the think 'Thank God that's not me.'

I can't do it again I just can't!

Hello

Not really a fan of 'blogs', and I don't think anyone other than me will be reading this, I mean there's so many, why read this when I've specifically called it 'Please Ignore This' PIT for short, as in arm or this is the.

I shall be posting various ramblings and overly twee angst ridden poetry - you have been warned. I will try to keep spelling errors to the minimum, as they annoy the hell out of me.

I'm not really sure how this all works, can I come back and edit stuff? Or is everything I write set in stone, floating (just go with the impossibly bad metaphor) out there in the 'interweb' forever? Will this be an embarrassing albatross around my neck once I come to my senses...

I will try to write something at least once a week, but I'm not all that reliable.