You get days like it...

You get woken an hour early by the guy downstairs gunning his car.

You just get back off when the bastard comes back for something he's forgotten.

You get up for a piss. There's a crimp in the end of your foreskin, and it sprays down your leg and over the floor. You go to wipe it up, but you're out of paper.

You go back to bed with a wet leg. You just get off again when the alarm goes.

You think about getting up, but doze off. When you wake again, you've overslept by 20 mins.

You jump out of bed and stub your toe, which hurts like a fuck. Your toenail will turn black by lunchtime and drop off by the weekend.

You hobble to the bathroom. The floor's still wet. You're out of soap. Your razor's blunt. You forgot to turn on the boiler. You wash in cold water.

Your clothes are yesterday's. Today's are in the wash. Yesterday's clothes are the day before's.

You only have time for a Pop Tart. You're out of Pop Tarts. You substitute the last two slices of bread. One of them has a green spot. You scrape it off. You toast the bread. You're out of margarine.

You boil the kettle. You're out of coffee. You substitute tea. You're out of milk.

You feel like a beer.

You're out.

You're hung over. You're late. You have to go in, because if you don't you won't get paid.

You miss the bus and turn in late. You get bawled out by the boss. You tell him to go fuck a duck. You get fired.

You go home again.

The fridge is still empty.

You go to the bathroom. You step in cold piss. You have a good shit - the best thing that's happened all day.

You're still out of paper.

You're hungry. You're thirsty. You're still hung over.

You smell of piss and shit and unwashed clothes.

You have no money.

You have no job.

You go back to bed.

You go back to sleep.

You don't dream.