I often wish to have Bernard’s Watch.

A watch that I could use to freeze time. To do everything I need to do. To finish all the unfinished tasks and to not have to worry about the impending fatigue that strikes me and the knowledge that I have to get up in the morning.

To be able to loosen the ties that bind in my mind between guilt and work I’ve not yet done.

To be able to step out of time.

How I’d kill for Bernard’s watch.

And you know, it’s almost funny how much I could do with that extra time.  I have drafts upon drafts in my post section. As in, 32. THIRTY TWO DRAFTS.

This blog has 91 posts, disregarding this one. And honestly? There’s something very uncomfortable about that. Something that I just refuse to like.

I remember a time when I would always get things done. It didn’t matter when it was set for or who it was for; if it needed doing, it’d get done. And now?

It’s as if a part of me just outright refuses to get things done. Nevermind get things done ON TIME.

And it kills me.

And frankly, this blog kills me.

And so does society.

And so does EVERYTHING IN LIFE recently.

The blog, to start with.

Oh my god. This blog.

Sometimes I don’t even know why I’m writing, as more often than not it just seems like I’m writing words that other people want to read. And yet, at the same time, I’m pretty sure that I suck as a writer.

Honestly, they say that self-expression is supposed to make you a more confident person and have more self-worth and blahblahblah. Honestly? The Kingdom of Matt has done nothing but make me angst even more about what people think about me.

It absolutely pisses me off. I don’t know if I’m a good writer or if I’m shit or if I’m funny or if I’m taken really seriously or WHAT.

Not to mention the fact that my subscriber stats pretty much change as fast as a yo-yo goes up and down.

Hmm.

And then there’s society.

Because, seriously? I’m starting to have enough of the big bad society. Most specifically, the NHS.

I was banned for life on Monday to give blood because I ticked a box that asked me if I’ve “Ever had oral or anal sex with another male with or without a condom”.

And so now I’m considered in a high risk band. Consequently, I’m banned. Forever. Including with organ donations.

Yet the true hypocrasy is that if I were straight and have had unprotected sex with 200 women in the past year? Well, as long as I’m as sexually clean as I am right now, as a homosexual, then it’s all fine and dandy for me to give blood.

It’s things like this that really mark out how much of an unchanged society towards homosexuality Britain is.

And boy oh boy, don’t get me started on everything else in life.

The random extra weight I’ve suddenly accumulated in the past few weeks, rather than gaining it during Christmas.

Or my overly-surpressed emotions on The Boy (hence not posting about The Boy series at all recently).

Or even how I honest-to-god just don’t have enough time in a day to be able to complete everything and actually leave any time for exercise + time I do things I enjoy.

OR how, every morning, getting out of bed is the biggest internal struggle since… anything.

OR *even* how my skin is getting so dry around my knuckles that my skin is starting to crack open (not my most attractive look, I can assure).

Ultimately, though, it’s a feeling of frustration.

I need more outlets for my emotion.

I’m glad I have an appointment to see my doctor on Monday so I can finally get put on another waiting list for long-term psychotherapy.

Shame that I’m going to be gone in a few months.

Heh. Seems that’s the theme of my life right now.

I want spicy food tonight.