Enemy Mine

There is a possibility that I may have freed up a bit of time.
Quitting two full-time jobs in the last 18 months and putting aside a part-time job or two should have led me to this Nirvana.
But instead of breathing in and hearing the beating wings of a butterfly, I've inherited violence.
And it is directed at a singular entity.

It is directed at a heartless canvas.

It is directed at a calendar concertina - an expanse of opportunity suppressed by a squeezebox of happenstance.
It sits to my left.
And (because I've never got on with diaries), it is my 2011 year planner. A set of boxes. Boxes of delights.
But I eye its boxes with malevolent energy.

I treat this otherwise sub £1-01 item with a disdain I would otherwise reserve for Jeremy Kyle, Russell Brand, Adolf Hitler or Michael McIntyre. Although its crimes are less severe.

Perhaps if it was coloured with a daisy sunset yellow rather than a haemoglobin red I might feel more charitable.
Nevertheless.
An empty canvas is a thing to be destroyed. Or at the very least, replaced, subverted.
Ask any Van Gogh.
Attacked.
Like a 14-year-old paintballer.
Like an Amazon gift wrapper.
Like Rambo.
Too much?
Well sorry, I ain't apologisin'.

It's an overgrown piece of A4 that deserves to be assassinated like that frigid Army Private whose image became every shooter's paper practice target. Have you never heard of tearing up the place?

And why Rambo? Because of the great line in his final movie:
"You got guns?"
"(No)"
" You're not changing anything"
Grunting. Macco. Bravado?
No.
Just a brilliant line of drama lost in an action film.

Treat your diary like a weary soldier squares off with his enemies.
And let me know how you get on.