Things what makes me glaaaad
I'm looking around my sitting room almost experiencing a fuzzy sense of well-being. I mean, despite the fact that all I've done for the past 3 days is watch TV and hoover the kitchen, some things do genuinely please me.
1) Shelves full of DVDs in alphabetical order.
2) The bit of paper that says I passed my degree.
3) Rodney the guitar looking all shiny.
4) Photos of Maddy on the mantlepiece.
5) The fact that my Christmas tree is still up.
Isn't life pleasant sometimes? And yet occasionally its little mysteries turn into big fucking problems, which nobody appears to be able to help me with. Getting a job, for example - one that will allow me to flee the country whenever I wish, whilst still maintaining a happy and cosy little home environment. Paying the bills when my bank account runs dry may be a tad impossible. Quitting smoking? Unfortunately Dubai sells them for tuppence (a bag), and let's face it, the damage has been done. And losing weight. Not for me, you understand, but for society; it is my duty - apparently - to look well put-together. Prime example: my mother phoned while I was half-way through writing the last sentence (I know, weird); she's in a shop with my sister, looking at a dress I'd found on the internet for my Graduation. Would I like her to buy it for me, since the website was out of stock? Yes, I say, in a size 14 please. What? No, I'll get you a 12. I don't need a 12, I need a 14 - I'm not a big girl, but I have broad shoulders and hips, and the last time I bought a 12 it wouldn't do up properly (but was baggy around my waist, annoyingly). I explain all this to my sister, who hands the phone over to my mother, who says she won't bother and that I'm ungrateful. Is there a 14 in the shop? Yes. So why is there a problem? She's sorry she asked; how ungrateful I am. Bye.
Conversations like this mystify me. I digress slightly from my original point, but as I've already said, I'm not a big girl. I'm tall and well-built - my stomach is softer than it perhaps should be (having not walked up that bastard hill to University for nearly 3 months), but essentially I'm just a big sort of person; stick a nice dress and some heels on me and I can look skinny. Case history: during military training I didn't have an ounce of fat on my body, yet my clothes were a size 10-12 - I still looked bigger than most. It baffles me that people (my mother and sister) buy clothes a size too small to "slim into", which then sit in a wardrobe with tags on until they're donated to a charity shop several years later. And it beggars belief that these same people (my mother and sister) would rather me look like an overstuffed sausage in my Graduation photos, but be able to say "it's a size 12", than look more comfortable in a size 14 - which, furthermore, would make me look slimmer, not having bits of flesh sticking out everywhere. Amazing.
Holy mother of God, I think I just saw a flea. Please don't say the cat has fleas again - I can't afford it (40 bloody quid for de-fleaing last time, since he's allergic to the stuff you buy in shops). And he mangles my hands when I try to spray him. Now I'm going to be skint, overstuffed and baffled, with no hands and a cat that hates me.
When Maddy comes home it'll be different. I can't help but feel I've shot myself in the foot with this Hydrography nonsense; the idea is that I'll go to sea when he returns, and we'll sort of rotate work after that. 4 months on, 4 months off, 4 months alone. I'm starting to wish I'd trained as a school teacher. No weekends, but I fritter them away anyway so what does it matter? Planned holidays and the chance to mould the adults of tomorrow - I reckon my Navy training might prolong my lifespan as well, since kids today seem to be more interested in stabbing than learning. Children, please! If you must maim, you could at least try carving your times-tables into little Johnny's forehead. Tsk. How will you ever divvy up cigarettes in prison if you don't know your fractions?
It's just occurred to me that it's 3pm and I haven't eaten anything. Do I wait until dinnertime, or say hell to convention and have a sandwich now? The prospect of munching and watching Dexter is pretty appealing.
Or I could use this fasting period to my advantage. Deliberate anorexia: think of the possibilities! My size 12 dress will continue to not fit me.
I'm going for a cigarette.
1) Shelves full of DVDs in alphabetical order.
2) The bit of paper that says I passed my degree.
3) Rodney the guitar looking all shiny.
4) Photos of Maddy on the mantlepiece.
5) The fact that my Christmas tree is still up.
Isn't life pleasant sometimes? And yet occasionally its little mysteries turn into big fucking problems, which nobody appears to be able to help me with. Getting a job, for example - one that will allow me to flee the country whenever I wish, whilst still maintaining a happy and cosy little home environment. Paying the bills when my bank account runs dry may be a tad impossible. Quitting smoking? Unfortunately Dubai sells them for tuppence (a bag), and let's face it, the damage has been done. And losing weight. Not for me, you understand, but for society; it is my duty - apparently - to look well put-together. Prime example: my mother phoned while I was half-way through writing the last sentence (I know, weird); she's in a shop with my sister, looking at a dress I'd found on the internet for my Graduation. Would I like her to buy it for me, since the website was out of stock? Yes, I say, in a size 14 please. What? No, I'll get you a 12. I don't need a 12, I need a 14 - I'm not a big girl, but I have broad shoulders and hips, and the last time I bought a 12 it wouldn't do up properly (but was baggy around my waist, annoyingly). I explain all this to my sister, who hands the phone over to my mother, who says she won't bother and that I'm ungrateful. Is there a 14 in the shop? Yes. So why is there a problem? She's sorry she asked; how ungrateful I am. Bye.
Conversations like this mystify me. I digress slightly from my original point, but as I've already said, I'm not a big girl. I'm tall and well-built - my stomach is softer than it perhaps should be (having not walked up that bastard hill to University for nearly 3 months), but essentially I'm just a big sort of person; stick a nice dress and some heels on me and I can look skinny. Case history: during military training I didn't have an ounce of fat on my body, yet my clothes were a size 10-12 - I still looked bigger than most. It baffles me that people (my mother and sister) buy clothes a size too small to "slim into", which then sit in a wardrobe with tags on until they're donated to a charity shop several years later. And it beggars belief that these same people (my mother and sister) would rather me look like an overstuffed sausage in my Graduation photos, but be able to say "it's a size 12", than look more comfortable in a size 14 - which, furthermore, would make me look slimmer, not having bits of flesh sticking out everywhere. Amazing.
Holy mother of God, I think I just saw a flea. Please don't say the cat has fleas again - I can't afford it (40 bloody quid for de-fleaing last time, since he's allergic to the stuff you buy in shops). And he mangles my hands when I try to spray him. Now I'm going to be skint, overstuffed and baffled, with no hands and a cat that hates me.
When Maddy comes home it'll be different. I can't help but feel I've shot myself in the foot with this Hydrography nonsense; the idea is that I'll go to sea when he returns, and we'll sort of rotate work after that. 4 months on, 4 months off, 4 months alone. I'm starting to wish I'd trained as a school teacher. No weekends, but I fritter them away anyway so what does it matter? Planned holidays and the chance to mould the adults of tomorrow - I reckon my Navy training might prolong my lifespan as well, since kids today seem to be more interested in stabbing than learning. Children, please! If you must maim, you could at least try carving your times-tables into little Johnny's forehead. Tsk. How will you ever divvy up cigarettes in prison if you don't know your fractions?
It's just occurred to me that it's 3pm and I haven't eaten anything. Do I wait until dinnertime, or say hell to convention and have a sandwich now? The prospect of munching and watching Dexter is pretty appealing.
Or I could use this fasting period to my advantage. Deliberate anorexia: think of the possibilities! My size 12 dress will continue to not fit me.
I'm going for a cigarette.