An audio piece – my first venture into the realm of spoken word poetry. The seeking of a new outlet for pain and vulnerability in the hope of change and new beginnings.
A written piece – A factual account of my coming to terms with childhood illness.
The more I get to know and meet new people in my life, the more I have come to realise that I’m somewhat of an over thinker. It’s not always … Continue reading Glen
Today I decided to write a blog…. Haha, no, I won’t start like that.
Do you ever do that thing where you get dressed in the morning, look in the mirror and think, “yeah, I look nice in this,” only to leave the house, catch your reflection in a car or shop window and then think, “WHAT THE FUCK?” but you’ll be late for work if you go home and change so you just have to roll with it? Pretty much every day, I do that thing! Only today, as I’m crossing the road and dry heaving at my reflection in the stupid café-where-everyone’s-really-attractive window, I hear a little voice calling my name. (Of course I forgot my headphones today. OF COURSE.) To be fair, it was two of my best friends calling me, but still, you know, in that precise moment of reflection heave, you do not want to see anyone! Especially not someone you know really well who can then continually retell the story of that time they saw you heaving at yourself one morning. Urrrgh. But whatever, I had a sense of smugness about me this morning because, as it was such a sunny start to the day, (“sunny start to the day” – already talking like a div) I decided I was going to walk the half-hour walk to the tube station and get some pre-summer exercise. YAY ME!
No, not “yay me” in the end. Nothing to “yay” about at all! It was sunny, yes, but super windy!!! The weather forecast didn’t say nothing about no wind! So my coat kept blowing open and flashing my dry-heave outfit to all and sundry walking past and going by on buses. You’re probably thinking, “why not just do up the coat?” Well, I couldn’t because the coat is a little tight. YES, that’s right, I’m chubby. (Skinny attractive girls don’t blog, come on. They’re busy beating off all the attractive men…not beating off like wanking beating off, like beating off with a stick beating off…all the attractive men that buy them gifts and call them pretty and “like” whatever dumb shit they post on facebook…… or whatever the fuck skinny attractive girls do! They don’t blog anyway! Bitter much? HAHA) Anyway, back to the wind making my top cling to my belly rolls and flashing my chub to passers-by, it just was not pretty at all. And also embarrassing for me, but, you know, I’d started so I had to keep going. Plus, how will I get rid of the chub if I don’t walk? (Eat less, drink fewer pints? AS IF. I used to know a guy called Asif! No I didn’t.) I did keep going anyway. Top lip started to perspire, but I did not let that stop me. Forehead started to perspire and drip cocoa butter in my eye, but I did not let that stop me either. I did alright, to be fair and I’m glad I walked. I just need to burn this top that makes me look like a male body builder in a ripped sweatshirt.
I was even early for work in the end, and bumped into a lovely colleague and neighbour with whom I chatted all the way up to the office. That was nice…for once. Hate the tube in the morning, but I’ll appreciate today and say nothing more about that.
Work was uneventful, on the whole. I did read a lot about Anne Frank, which has entirely NOTHING to do with the work that I do, but my boyfriend told me he was reading her diary and there was “a lot more lesbianism in it” than he was expecting! What??? He’s not totally wrong, it turns out, but he is largely wrong. The fool. The foolish boyfriend that I still can’t talk to about my feelings. The boyfriend that I still think is too good looking for me which cripples me with insecurity. The boyfriend with a million questions over his head, none of which I can ask. But I CAN bloody well moan about over a pint (four pints) with friends.
After the rest of the day at work, hating on half the office in my head while smiling in their faces, I decided not to walk home from the tube station. Partly because I realised that the inner thighs of my trousers had started making a high pitched whistle sound with every step, but also because I just couldn’t be fecking bothered!
I’ve spent the evening home alone, stuck in my own head about ridiculous things. Not the boyfriend, he’s really very sweet. But I think a lot about other people. Friendships, relationships, how alone I feel despite having lots of friends. “Friends” – it’s hard to define friendship in a city like London. It’s a hard place to live, despite being one of the best places to live.
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of FOOLISHNESS…”
Haha. Dick(ens). I think I’ll leave it there for now, shall I?