I’m mad as hell, and I’m not going to take it anymore

There was a time when I was pissed off about pretty much everything, and wouldn’t hesitate to share my displeasure with the world through vaguely amusing social media ranting.

Then, I came to the cold realisation that apart from invoking unseen smirks or eye-rolls from people unfortunate enough to follow me on Facebook, I was achieving nothing.

(The problem is, if you extend this logic, there’s little point in doing anything).

So my new defaults to a perceived slight or aggravation became:

  1. Resigned ambivalence
  2. Quiet fury
  3. Stoic detachment

I’m thinking of changing it up next year, to get back to clumsily offending people I like by insulting Muse or Funko Pops or Peugeot cars whenever the whim takes me.

Will I feel any better? Probably not, but we must not go gentle into that good night, but rather rage, rage against the dying of the light. Because the light is undoubtedly dying, and I don’t want to run out of time to tell you how much David Walliams creeps me out, or how the Walking Dead has been shit since about Season 2.

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