Adulthood is wanting to lie down for four days straight but not having time or the space from the deluge of decisions, questions, daily indignities. So maybe we just need an OOO message for life? To explain what we may suddenly not have the energy to do. Like…
Out Of Sorts
You are sorry but you are a bit OOS today. A bit discombobulated and not completely in your skin. Or in your brain. Or in any way fit for human consumption. It’s not TERRIBLE. But it’s not great either…
Out Of Body
You just caught glimpse of someone in the lift mirror. Strange choice of clothes, sort of almost working but not quite. Hair is, well, unfortunate. Slightly disappointed look on face. But who even was that? Oh.
Out Of Coffee
Put that in your email and smoke it. Watch as everyone slowly backs away leaving you in the centre of an imaginary (and yet so, so real) cordoned off bomb blast area. You are OOC, bitches.
Out Of Hope
For those days when nothing but nothing feels OK. Not even your dog. Because he is going to die. And your home is crumbling. And so are your teeth. And your skeleton. What is the point? Right now you are OOH.
Out Of Ideas
Jesus there’s a meeting. A big one. And you’ve given so much recently/always. Is it possible that you are finally out of ideas? *goes to loo thinks up something brilliant so that order will be restored i.e. thought will be stolen by higher-ups and you make absolutely no extra money for being, quite frankly a sensation* This can also happen in relationships. “Frankly Albert, I’m fresh out of ideas…”
Out Of Fucks
You know you are not supposed to run out of fucks. You know you are supposed to keep hold of some fucks so magical stuff can happen. So you can make a difference. But today you are out of them. Completely. Zero fucks left. Maybe tomorrow?
Out Of Opinions
So glad you asked that question. But you are afraid you are going to have to defer to literally anyone else. Because you are OOO.
Out Of Time
The time limit on this feeling, this guilt, this responsibility has expired. Timed out. The emotional wheel of death on the metaphorical laptop of life. Sorry. Actually not sorry. You are out of sorrys too.