What the fuck did I do?

...Like a cat
Tied to a stick
That's driven into frozen winter shit"

OK Computer came out ten years ago and I listened to it as I commuted to work each day ("Transport, Motorways and tram lines, Starting and then stopping") and felt it described perfectly the greyness and drabness of my life ("A heart that's full up like a landfill, A job that slowly kills you, Bruises that won't heal").

And now it ain't so different.  I've escaped some of the traps only to find myself in other ones.  Some of the traps are comfortable and warm and I do not necessarily need to escape them, but others are slowly killing me, eating away at my soul, my self, my sense of worth.  There are days when I look at myself and don't like who I have become.  The real me is confined to a small room in the attic of my brain, huddled on the bare wooden floor, next to an old dusty record player (I spit on your MP3s and CDs), jabbering in the corner about PJ Harvey or Elbow or Pink Floyd, whilst the rest of the house has been taken over by some mad self-righteous despot with more anger and pain than love and care, bothered by money and status, and howling at the bloodshot moon.

Mind you it could be worse.  I could be Laika the dog!