Don't bother with this one

Surprisingly enough, over the last two days nothing untoward, bizarre or even naked has happened to me. The most mental it has gotten for me today is that I accidently left some green paper in a photocopier, later heard some girl bitching about the fact her pamphlets were printed all green-like, and secretly smirked to myself thinking, 'ahaaa! yet another victim of the GREEN BANDIT! BABABAABAAAAA!'. Perhaps I'm the only one, but I spend quite a lot of time when on my own imagining that the normal things that happen around me happen because I have special powers.
For example, in the elevator (thats 'lift' for those who are confused. You're welcome.) When the grating slides across and you start to climb those floors, I sometimes raise my hand up slowly as if I am the one controlling it. Anyone else? No? Only if I'm alone, obviously. Otherwise that would be weird, right? And then when the grate opens quickly I make a 'fuck off' sweeping motion with my hand as if the door is bending to my will. Is that weird? I literally don't even know anymore. Ha, I think the reason I can say all of this so willingly and freely is because I've been here a month now, and I'm pretty sure England, the Atlantic Ocean, and all of those who read my blog do not actually exist. Therefore no one will ever actually read this, its all in my mind anyway and I might as well be completely honest about the whole thing. So yes, 'every day action superhero'. Thats me. Like trying to guess when the kettle is going to click off when its boiled, and pointing at it at the moment when you think its going to, JUST IN CASE it coincides with the click. yes? I mean sure, it results in a lot of fruitless pointing, but still, when you do manage it, oh the joys to be had. yes indeed. Oh dear. even I begin to sense that I may be going too far.

It might be because I'm getting accidently slightly high. Seriously, the amount of pot being smoked in my apartment is almost silly. Those Lessogs KNOW how to smoke dope. I feel a bit like I'm having a good time against my will. You know those adverts with the child with the face made entirely of eyes, and in the background his mum is lighting up and beating a treasured pet with a golf club-which has the tag line 'I have a smokers cough... and I don't smoke.' I feel like there should be another one, just of me, looking a bit dazed with a grin on my face with the line 'I'm really weirdly relaxed and dispassionate about life.... and I don't do weed.' yeah man. yeaahhh.
People are funny aren't they? I came through the door bearing chicken and sneezing madly, and the two of them on the couch didn't even look up, didn't say a word, just carried on watching some 'football' game. (Incidently, it is NOT football. In no way do they use their feet. If anything it should be called Armball. Or Rugby For Pussies.) Whereas on the streets of Brooklyn I can literally stop for 3 seconds, look very slightly confused and have strangers falling over themselves trying to help me find my way. Very bizarre.
I really like Brooklyn, as an aside. I think it has something to do with its underdog status, and being from the North of England, I can identify with that. I will never forget my first night of University, where I had carefully and thoughtfully planned to worry about EVERYTHING, literally everything, from meeting people, to my face, to being sick inappropriately into some else's bag. The one thing I forgot to worry about was being from Warrington. Within about an hour, the cries of 'You're from WHERE?' were echoing around the Westwood halls, and I was subjected to listening, on repeat, a lovely ditty by the comedy geniuses who created the witty and damning 'London Underground Song' (jesus sarcasm is difficult to get across sans actual voice hearings), a song called 'Northern Birds'. To the tune of 'More than words.' yeah. Look it up if you're interested, but safe to say, I was slightly scarred. 'Northeerrrn birrds, are easy ugly whores who smell of burggers.' yeah. Just one of many lines that still haunt my Warringtonian soul.
What was I talking about? Ah yes, Brooklyn. I recognise the cheeky, a little down on its luck, slightly self-depreciating tone of the place, where the signs use words like 'wonderfulest', safe in the knowledge that they don't need to bend to the restricting laws of grammar, this isn't Manhattan damn it! Words roam wild and free here! And on a slightly less poetical note, its cheaper. Which is always good. I mean sure Manhattan is wonderful too, but I always feel a bit like I should be wearing more make up, or a less see through dress. Who needs that kind of pressure eh?

Anyway, I was going to say that I have nothing to report, and so wont be doing a post this evening. And yet I seem to have rambled anyway. God bless associate weed smoking, thats what I say. Yes. So anyway, I think I'll leave it there for today, I'm very sorry I've let you down, and at least I can leave you with the knowledge that there's a really great wall opposite me that I'm going to do some shadow puppets on for a while. Another pasttime of mine in the dark hours. I made a frankly brilliant 'french man whose toupee gets blown off unexpectedly' the other day. With the power of hands. No idea how to do it now of course, but that, my dear friends, is both the blessing and the curse of the ancient art of hand shadow puppeting. Ok. I definitely sense a 'you've gone to far with the inner workings of your sadness' beginning to brew. So off I go. Maybe make a cup of tea first. Dear me, its tough being a secret superhero.