Sundays I go crazy, this one too

It's like a hungry revolting monster eats me up every Sunday morning. I wake up wanting to act normal, well, at least the normal I used myself to, but I somehow slip into the crazy Sunday mood. Not quite sure what influences me to embrace this socially unacceptable conduct, it's not like every Saturday night I get stepped over and soul-absorbed by a thousand people trying to attend an overrated event or, oppositely, I feel randomly ignored. It was a mere happening that those should happen this Saturday, so it might explain today's partial Sunday fail, but what do we do about the rest? Because trust me, I am to be reckoned with in this holy day of the week, I wish I found a way I were not.

Somewhat helpful for the Sunday social monster was tonight's outing. We went to see Shorts Up via London in a newly opened location, some sort of an industrial space, overestimated, from my humble perspective. The course of events was rather acceptable, starting with a concert of Moonlight Breakfast, a fresh young band, whose lead singer seemed quite stoned to me. Their music is bearable though, I most definitely recommend it for steamy circumstances, for those who experience them, more or less. 

What followed was a number of short British movies, 5 to 15 minutes, which carried my mind and feelings through a rollercoaster. The journey started literally up with a "lift story", which I guess wanted to have a profound strike, but I had not achieved the right cultural status yet, so what I perceived was a bunch of people going in and out of an elevator and interacting at a superficial level. Meh, it worked though, superficial can be my thing. What followed was a rather disturbing tale from a sperm bank, which beyond the trivial and somewhat kinky cover up, I suppose was a pointer to how selfish and crazy can loneliness make human beings. But then again, who is not crazy and selfish may throw the first stone. Then an amusing alter ego story, about how can one take in one's dark side and learn to live with the horrible feelings and cravings that eat one's inside up. Rather appropriate story for my Sunday mood swings. Then Nolan's short up about a bug, from what I concluded a cinematographic interpretation of Kafka's metamorphosis, which I unfortunately missed while trying out the eco restrooms. Last but not least there was Stanley Pickle's story, which ruined everything I had been striving to build up with British muffins, Grolsch and enjoyable trivial little movies. The maximum level of sadness wrapped up in a toy story, with piglet sweaters, green fields and purple ribbons. Which brought me back exactly to the state I started the morning with, outmost heartly autism. We left before the bald lady sang, otherwise who knows what would have become of us. And who else to attend to the more earthly tasks Sunday evening brings about. All in all, I survived another week end without stewing someone, be it myself, which is great. And there's even more silver lining to the current situation. Tomorrow's Monday, so, good news, it cannot possibly get worse. 

Meanwhile, chop chop with your eyes wide open the delicious butter cream muffins, and forgive my crazy Sundays.

Later edit: A-ye, I shook out my stone age and discovered how to add videos, so here's also a sample of the Moonlight breakfast, a song so true it hurts.