Being Mr. Kenny

I have just made a discovery. It happened when I was typing, and some would call it a typo but I really don’t buy into all that. When I make a mistake in typing, I like to think it happened for a reason. Otherwise I just wouldn’t be able to cope.

Anyway, I have discovered … eeflings. Eeflings are like feelings only they’re more ambiguous. Eeflings are what you get when, for example, you’re supposed to be doing invoices and such, but really just want to jump around and go a little bit mad. They can be quite dangerous. I remember when I got my A Level results at the tender age of 17…

I was a miserable teenager, and part of that misery expressed itself in never bothering to do any work. Consequently, when I got my results they were quite significantly below what they ought to have been. This wasn’t a surprise, but it did mean that while all my friends were being accepted into their first choices, I was left with the prospect of ‘clearing’, which for some reason sounded to me like a euphemism for a sort of academic ethnic cleansing.

Anyway, I had quite considerably strong eeflings that night, and they pushed me to break a lot of glasses without having even touched a drop of alcohol.

So there it is. My discovery. Eeflings. A mix of enthusiasm, frustration and despair resulting in a turmoil-esque surge of emotion buried beneath social constraint. Freud, eat your heart out.

(But of course he can’t. Cos he’s dead. And anyway, he probably wouldn’t have called it a ‘heart’, he would have called it the id — but that’s really another story for another day.)