There's no holding back this beast.
Oh relax; I'm not going all Jackie Collins with tales of rippling torsos, love swords, and other such non-existant fictional manliness.
I mean the beast of 'time', ooh the imagery eh?
The creature is thrashing his way through the jungle, mercilessly, maybe even unknowingly, trodding on and flattening all the days and weeks and months in his way. Leaving a distinct, but winding trail, leading back for nineteen cycles.
(I picture a rhino, if that helps.)
We're now in the tail end of number nineteen, cycle day 21. The last two cycles have been 25 days each, with the average being about 27.
You can hang from the gutter by your ankles but whatever way you look at it, we are in the last week again.
One week from now I'll either be a wobbly, stuttery, gibbering mess or, well,... a wobbly, stuttery, gibbering mess, but one as happy as if he were standing up to a pair of porcine testes in excrement.
That's what's fascinating me today, the simpleton that I am.
One minute we could be two grumpy, frustrated, sad, repeatedly disappointed, 19 months ridden raw, humiliated, poked & prodded redundant shaggers, and the next we could be higher than Robert Downey Jr. on an average Friday night.
Just like that, with a little push of a sphincter, instant bliss from a piss.
Assuming we can harness that Downey Jr. spirit constructively, and stay out of the neighbour's swimming pool, we could be expecting.
All that is just a scandalous waste of my time and yours, just so I could say that out loud, 'we could be expecting'.
Sounds nice doesn't it?
Much nicer than 'shut up you intellectual and emotional dwarf, and don't be making yourself look like a bigger dope than you already are' which I'm sure is what's being hissed at me right now.
In my defence, this is my head and I can say what I like, it was just only for a minute, and it passed some time, and I don't really think it's likely anyway.
Nice thought though, if only briefly.
...aaaaaand we're right back to saddo.