Watched the boyfriend DJ last night. Talented bubba. I’m very lucky.
Tomorrow I have Uni, which I am growing increasingly bored of, and I will drag my arse to the gym coz I’m sick if feeling guilty that I like to eat.
But at least I get paid. Living off of £10 for a week is shit. Clearly, I am going to need a job that pays well or so help me God, I’m screwed.
*Felt like posting some of my most recent writing. I dunno. Enjoy*
I caught my reflection in a window this morning. Not looking too shabby, if I do say so myself. Well, considering I haven’t had a shave or a wash in a few weeks, I don’t look too shabby, I should say.
My hair grows grayer every time I see it, and it’s in desperate need of a trim. Years ago, my hair was never in need of a trim. I was very peculiar about my hair being done, by a professional, every 3 – 4 weeks… And I was always clean shaven. Couldn’t stand the stubble; too irritating. Much like long hair, stubble got irritating in the heat and was a nightmare for sand when out on a blustery night. No, I never used to have stubble or scraggly hair. Still, I keep my comb in my pocket and try to make do the best I can. Keep my hair neatly tucked behind my ears until I can next get into the shelter and give it a bit of a trim myself.
My clothes weren’t looking too filthy either, which was good. Obviously, my coat is grubby and smells like city air. Needs to be washed really, maybe if I can collect enough change I’ll take myself to the launderette and give it a spin. Not sure that I’ll have enough for the detergent mind. Once upon a time, my coat would have been spotless. My jacket back then was like a coat of honour. It was pristine, especially before a big ceremony when I used to have it dry cleaned especially. Even if it wasn’t dirty, I still sent it off. I wanted it to shine like my badges. My trousers have no holes in them mind, which I do count my blessings for. Picked myself up this pair new last time I was at the shelter, back around Christmas time. I try to wash my underwear two or three times a week, a thought that used to turn my stomach, but truth be told it’s just too hard to sneak in out of the public toilets any more than that. I just give them a quick swirl in the sink with some soap, if there is any, and hold them under the hand dryer for as long as I can get away with. A man still tries to hold is dignity, you know?
My hands look battered and weather torn, which doesn’t really surprise me. Been through a lot my hands have. Seen too much, held too much, things too big and too heavy, fought in fights they didn’t want to be a part of. A few of my nails have cracked, but that’ll be down to the cold. My gloves are pretty bare thread at the moment, so they don’t do very much good, but they are better than nothing. They look old, withered; ancient. Wrinkled in ways I didn’t even think possible. They remind me of the hands of old labourers, of men who spent their years ploughing fields and rearing cattle come rain or shine. My story being a little different, of course.
Then there was my face. Too skinny and hallow; I was gaunt. The skin around my eyes and cheeks having been affected by years of harsh weather conditions and not enough moisturiser, as my dear wife used to say. I was colourless, a shade of grey usually reserved for the dead or the dying, the only pink showing at the tip of my nose and ear lobes, where the cold was biting away good and hard. There used to colour all over my face. My expressions instantaneous to how I was feeling, I was as readable as a book. My cheeks used to be full, my lips used to smile and my eyes, my eyes used to glisten. They glistened at the sight of my beautiful wife on our wedding day, as she came down the aisle; the most perfect vision I had ever seen. They glistened when with the boys around the small fire, when talking tactics and making plans. Yes, my eyes used to glisten with hope and pride and love. Now, my eyes glisten but in a different way, they are full of a different, twisted a hope. They glisten out of fear and longing and cold. It is not the glisten of happiness that I used to know but the glisten of desperation, of grit and heart ache.
I caught my reflection in a shop window earlier and I saw a man, a broken man, a homeless man; he was entirely a new version of me.
For all the ramblings and musings of my clearly over-active brain.
Also, hello to all my new followers.
Much love xo
Well Tumblr, it’s good to be back.
Also, WeHeartIt has changed their photo uploader, which I dislike. I feel like when I stopped using Tumblr I disappeared under a rock.
But I’m back. And I’ve even queued some stuff.
Watching Pretty Woman. Want cuddles. And a Richard Gere in my life.
Hello old friend…
How’ve you been?
Ah, I’ve been alright. The usual mostly, man troubles, drunken nights, tears, cuddles and lots of laughter.
Second year is better than first, I have a stronger sense of self this year. Last year I lost that entirely. I’ve been busy, my new job involves ridiculous hours and my work load uni wise is far bigger. But I’m happy.
Lost my keys and my iPhone on Friday night, we won’t dwell, it’s brought about a lot of silver linings but to say I’m pissed off and incredibly lost without it would be massive understatements.
I will try and be a better Tumblie.
Will the ending ever fucking change?
Sat on my beg in an oversized cardigan and my underwear because I look fat in everything I own and my wardrobe is boring. Ceebs.
The awkward moment when you’re one the biggest girls in your house and suddenly, the thought of being able to enjoy second year is slowly being ruined by the fact that you’ll spend all year feel self-conscious and inadequate. Again.
TO THE GYM!! Haha.