Just another day

London, london,

well done, great presentation today, a compliment from the boss of the boss of my boss. Not bad Boss!

I'm tired again, and quite happy, i'm between a rock and a hard place, a bit sad when I really think about stuff, real stuff, emotional stuff, but that's just me.

It's all wrapped up ready to go

Cards strewn over the floor, and flash socks too.

Tired so i'm off to bed,

I am human and I need to be loved
just
like
anybody
else
does.

Three hours on the A46, then manouvering the car and me round loughborough leicestershire, heaton, smeetin, seaton, fleeton and godknowswherethefuckamiton.

I was tired when I got in, and promised myself no bread til Christmas, but i'm still awake at 11.30, and had toast a little while ago, washed down with some cute oranges.

I have a present for you, it's waiting wrapped in paper.

I look down at my white tshirted torso, and my pants, and my duvet, and its all a bit mundane. I wear the same white undershirt I promised i'd never wear...it's to keep the cold out I tell myself, but it's just about getting older.

Pipe smoke and cardigans next

london tomorrow, the hoards of staff members caring if you call them 'mate' or 'girl' like some jumped up Greer, burning their bra.
"Last week we went to football and the women stayed at home." Fuck they wouldn't like that, but that's fuckin reality duck, it's here and I grew up with it, and me and my uncles and dad and grandad are all members of the club, and you're not, and for that very fucking simple reason.

A final sip of water for today, from a glass smelling of beer in parts, the last taste of a victory pint this evening.

Uber tired but still enough for a chat and some hardcore blues on spotify

This warm comforting glow, I feel priveleged, and I lie here with heavy eyelids, but so many to chat to, others to ignore, more ignoring me.

Back on site these past few days, the room where much happened but not, that is gone, replaced by some steel eyesore, flapping tarps in the breezy Leeds wind and puddles in mud and sludge and crud, where flippant students throw empty Jacques cider bottles and fag ends

I lifted up my crucifix by Jesus' chin

It never got bright today, always a shadow of a day, a hung grey cloud.

The insistent drip drip drip 'good morning this is' drip drip drip 'how can i' drip drip drip


There's someone online and they're wanting banter, and I want sleep, glorious sleep,
but I had a nap earlier, so closing my eyes is like sliding a dead seal over a rock...can't can't just can't get there

Fuck what is this music? Get me that Christmas in the Heart by Dylan please. Eeeeeeeeee

And then

I threw up. Waking up throwing up as I entered work. From cold to colder, and the snails silver trails on the carpet, and falling dust as I slammed the door, was all too much.

Rubbing my legs against a ticking radiator, grabbing every last bit before putting the trousers back on,

lying on the floor with my head against the PC tower, warming my ears against a vibrating computer fan

quite cold toes and a white sock heel,

but hot laces from a car heater, like microwaving a witch.