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Fear and self-loathing on the 46A

What if the Analyst you spent 45 fruitless minutes with on the bus was you...

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by Shane O'Reilly, Editor, Dublin for outsideleft.com
originally published: May, 2006
what kind of man am I going to be in ten years time anyway?
by Shane O'Reilly, Editor, Dublin for outsideleft.com
originally published: May, 2006
what kind of man am I going to be in ten years time anyway?

I stated before, I think too much. I imagine all manner of crap. Constantly. It makes me fell a little insane at times as if I'm far misplaced from the ever equating mass normalness around me. It makes me sweat and I get awful headaches. No better place then to propel my irksome bent mind than on the 46A bus.

I usually mind my own business, hoody up, sitting in behind the baggage thing or at the front up-stairs but my mind will lurch like many a ten-ton vehicle into overdrive;

- 'God, he's tall. No, I'm taller than that. I bet I look really stupid on buses....'

- 'Is she hot? Ummm... yes, yes I would definitely not not try to maybe have my way with her. Mental note however - too much fake tan. City's full of it. Oompa-Loompa!

- 'He looks weird. Probably because he has a little triangle goatee below his lower lip, pointing straight to hell. Scratch that, he just looks f**kin' stupid'.

But if my mind was to get stuck in a rut - which it does often - I will transport my thoughts onto some form of future agony - a career (or lack of), acquiring a woman (or not), my future in general, baldness, my family, holiday I won't go on.....

The other day I thought - well what kind of man am I going to be in ten years time anyway? My parents have hinted at my impending doom many times in a financial/career manner, however, I feared;

Bald - I do not wish to be bald. Not yet, not in ten years. Once I hit my forties, then we will see. I know I have red hair, but I would like to keep it. I'd look terrible - baboon forehead and sticky-outy ears. I'm already terrible with the ladies, I do not wish to die alone resembling something similar to my English uncle Bertie - a mixture of a plain egg-head and the premiership cup.

Insane - I saw a man running from the local mental hospital the other day. Dressed in dandy attire, he sprinted by my bus, his tongue lapping behind him - he could taste the freedom in the air. The pink palace of doctors and addicts far behind him.

Like my father - funny how he is a normal working man (in a bank, with a stable life and family (bar me. I'm hardly 'stable' - basically his words too. So there ya go..... yippee), yet still - I wish to wear my own shoes (none other fit... sigh) and far out-stride the man in any way possible. He does possess an unaccountable amount of the most earth shatteringly irritating mannerisms though......

Dunnes Stores employee - I've worked there twice. Supermarkets are hell. The managers are masochistic animals possessing the combined I.Q. and illicit tact of a llama trying to open a can of coke. The work too, like many, many jobs, is liable to drive you into being an utterly boring person. The uniform sucks and the staff are generally full of teenage g-Unit fans and middle-aged sociopaths with little brains to even balance themselves.

The Suit & Tie guy - one of those in the fray of cattle, bumping into each other in our suits (both of us secretly wondering; WHOS SUIT IS MORE EXPENSIVE?) in Donnybrook only discussing business, office supplies and maybe rugby. Jesus....

And of course; the failed writer! - Time will tell. I could be writing an ironic and lasting rebuttal type thing here but as long as I get trekking with this kind of weirdness, hopefully it will all work out.

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Shane O'Reilly
Editor, Dublin

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