My spirit is broken. *Edit

Today I was talked into going to a barn dance.

And I may never, ever smile again.

I knew I wouldn’t enjoy it. I knew I’d be putting myself through hell. I knew it would only end me up pretty much like this – writing it all in here with a cynical tongue and an evening of regret. But I went anyway, because my mum’s good at the whole “guilt trip” thing.

I arrived at the farm at about 7.30. First minus point – I knew nobodyatall. Notalivingsoul. I could have introduced myself to the cows for all the good to my social life being there did me. I sent the following text to Beenie:

“Oh, this was a bad, bad plan. I know a grand total of Nobody. And I’m expected to line dance.”

I investigated the matter further. Oh, people my age.

That made it worse.

A group of teen friends whom I’d never clapped eyes upon in my life. Looking at me with evil, cold eyes.

I sent another text to Beenie.

“I AM THE ONLY TEEN HERE WITHOUT FRIENDS. They besmirch me with their eyes. I want to go home now.”

I decided outside the barn was not a good place to be. I walked inside, where young children were swinging each other about and a folk band called The Nobodys led by a man called Mr. Noone from Nowhere-On-Sea was yowling away on the stage. I could feel the cheery, folksy, family-fun atmosphere sapping the strength out of my capable body with every passing second. By 8.00 I was drowsy and snappy. I sat at the side while evil chavvish teens stood around the walls with their Stella Artois’, wishing I was still at the park, or at least somewhere vaguely more welcoming, like Death Row. The band played a couple more songs (well-known classics such as “My Granny Went A-Whorin'” and “Slap My Thigh And Tell Me Of Your Child Fetish”) and we went back outside again, where I was told to get food.

And smack bang in front of me, rolling slowly and glistening in a sinister sort of way, was a dead hog’s torso on a spit.

I swear, I have never, ever seen anything less appetising in my existance. At all.

I would have downed cat vomit more willingly than I would have taken a bite of that unfortunate pig.

I ate some vegetable lasagne instead.

Just as I thought the world would end where I was standing, a shimmer of hope rained through from the dessert table. Apple Pie! I love apple pie. I have a weakness for baked goods. I got a plate.

And it was vile. Bland. I could have no more have eaten that than the sheep in the field next to me. They ruined dessert. My favourite dessert. And they did it with such atrocious aplomb. From that point on, I was, quite simply, dead. I gave up. I sent Beenie her last text:

“I’m officially losing the will to live. I can physically feel it draining out my feet. I could cheerfully scratch out my eyes with a fork, right here, right now.”

And I stood there.

And moved inside, and sat there.

And moved outside, and sat there.

Ad infinitum.

Moved inside. Sat there. Dad walked over. He said “I need to piss, but I’m not taking my beer with me or people will think I’m taking a sample.”

I said “I’ll look after it.”

He said “But people will think you’re an underage drinker.”

I said “I have less of a problem with that.”

He left me with the bottle.

I sat there some more. He came back. The raffle started. Then more dancing. And then I was required to dance. With my sister. I’ll spare you the more unpleasant details.

Evening finally finished. I said to my parents “The dust in here is simonizing my lungs, so I’d like it very much if we could leave now.” And we did.

We sat in the car. My sister was wittering on about how wonderful her school trip was. (She, incidentally, spent the evening complaining about the appauling charred hunk of flesh that was the hog, and how cruel it was to kill animals…. all the while munching on a biiiig pork bap) She told us about the things she had bought, and I was getting rather wound up with her, especially after she went into a huff when I replied to her cry of “Sorry I didnt have time to buy you a present becky….” with “I’m not going to lose any sleep over it, I assure you”. She had started talking about her new toy bear, and how it was covered in “Pickles”. My mum said “Pickles?” and she replied, “No, BIGGLES, silly”.

So I said “Yes, because ‘biggles’ makes much more sense than ‘pickles'”.

And my dad just folded. He started howling all over the car. I dont know why, as I don’t feel it was even that funny. I think it’s possible he was as bored with the evening as I was. Good to know I wasn’t the only one to have misplaced my desire to survive for the night.

That was really all I have to say on the subject.

I like to think upon it as a learning experience.

I’ve learned never to do it again.

Goodbye.

—————————————-

*Sorry. This had to be added in.

Conversation between me and John from down the road.

My very energetic panda swam under north panda says:
boo
Bex | Boredom happens to bring out the cynic in me. says:
my spirit has been broken
Bex | Boredom happens to bring out the cynic in me. says:
and i may never smile again.

My very energetic panda swam under north panda says:
yes i’m fine how are you?

Bex | Boredom happens to bring out the cynic in me. says:
hello…. i feel rather…. drained…. I’m hoping you’re well…. and I have some advice for you
Bex | Boredom happens to bring out the cynic in me. says:
never, ever, ever
Bex | Boredom happens to bring out the cynic in me. says:
let yourself be talked into going to a barn dance

My very energetic panda swam under north panda says:
what!?
My very energetic panda swam under north panda says:
they’re great!
My very energetic panda swam under north panda says:
i went to a 40s night once aswell, that was even better
My very energetic panda swam under north panda says:
it was full of really cool old people
My very energetic panda swam under north panda says:
and i was dressed as a 3rd rank untershrozen
My very energetic panda swam under north panda says:
complete with arm band and officers hat

Bex | Boredom happens to bring out the cynic in me. says:
i never, ever want to speak to you, ever again.