"Let Me Show You What You're Made Of"

It’s grey outside.
I’m sick of the same voice on the train PA system every day.
It’s doing that irritating misty rain thing that England does so well—I normally like it, today I don’t.
Same goes for the fog.
There’s a girl talking on her phone a few seats behind me; I want to turn around and yell at her to shut up.
The sound of pages turning as someone goes through their notes across the aisle is far too loud.
Same goes for my laptop keys.
I’m on three hours of sleep and a hangover.
There is nothing about this morning that will impress me.
I’m looking outside trying to find something to impress me.
There has got to be something there.
I have the very repetitive chorus of an annoyingly ironic and clichéd song stuck in my head and it’s going around and around in inescapable circles.
Why is that woman’s coat so white? That’s ridiculously white.
Everyone has umbrellas and is looking unimpressed.
I’m slightly happy with myself for remembering what pathetic fallacy is. Go grade ten English.
There’s a boy with red hair (not ginger, red, damn it) wearing army fatigues. Normally I’d cultural studies the hell out of that image but today I can’t be bothered.
To do anything I don’t have to do.
You don’t have to do anything.
Shut up.
The pattern on the seats in here hurts my eyes.
“At least they’re not lonely...”
Shut up, shut up, shut up, ahhhhhh!
Why is this country so fucking contradictory?!
How is it that you can have the most stunningly beautiful countryside I’ve ever seen and blue skies that rival oceans and also have the most dreary, grey, depressing landscape imaginable when it rains?
And why is it still so gorgeous?
That’s annoying.
It’s like when people tell me I’m pretty when I’m angry.
A-N-N-O-Y-I-N-G.
The water is streaming down the windows “of this four coach train.”
Stupid PA system, I don’t care how many coaches this train has, alright?
Why is it only 8:16 in the morning?
My back hurts because I haven’t been doing my yoga.
What does god existing have to do with the meaning of life? Stupid advertisement that doesn’t make sense.
Twelve minutes of stolen wifi here I come.
Sometimes there is no other way.
I refuse to believe that.
I want to go back to bed.
Why is that guy humming? What the fuck does he have to be so happy about? No one wants to hear your humming at 8:21 in the morning, dude.
Why is it raining again?
I say again but it hasn’t rained in ages.
Ages for England or ages in general?
I can’t remember what other places are like anymore.
I’ve had this scarf since I was six years old.
It’s red and it’s not soft anymore.
I don’t want to.
What?
Umm, anything?
That’s pathetic.
Streams of consciousness are fun, no?
I’m going to get soaked on the walk from the station to work.
I have an umbrella (because you do not go two feet in England without an umbrella), but the hems of my jeans are going to get soaked.
And then I’ll have to sit in soaking wet jeans all fucking day.
WHY DOES THE UNIVERSE HATE ME SO MUCH?!
Is it Friday yet?
My god, I’m a peach today, aren’t I?
See, I’m just writing all this out now so I get it out before work because I don’t want to subject myself or the guys to my foul mood all day.
Foul moods are a choice, Amber, and an idiotic one at that.
I know okay, Jesus Christ, I’m allowed to be annoyed as hell if I bloody well want to.
Allowed? Really? Did you really just say that?
PS, what are you, five?
Yes. *pouts*
Oh grow up.
Fine. *glare* and all that.
Stop glaring at your own consciousness, that’s ridiculous.
Why do you insist on running these fool’s errands?
Because. I. Like. A. Challenge. Okay?!
Challenge is relative, you idiot.
Shut up.
Why is it still raining?
It’s grey outside.
I’m sick of the same voice on the train PA system every day.
It’s doing that irritating misty rain thing that England does so well—I normally like it, today I don’t.
Same goes for the fog.