Thursday, May 13, 2010

Man On The Verge Of A... Not Much Really

There's something about living alone that's rendered doing anything so damn difficult. For starters, not coming home to a Large Northern Flatmate watching TV on a cheap sofa means I can jump onto my flash cosy one and do likewise ~ It also means I don't get any creative writing done as I used to with my evenings back in Chiswick (or at least that's how I'm choosing to remember it).

Not having another human being sharing my living space, whilst utterly blissful, is also slightly bizarre, as it sets the scene for a nice spot of mad loneliness to enter stage left; a bit of talking to myself here and there, and a spot of not leaving the flat as I'm too apathetic to amble around a park/ catch a movie/ grab a coffee on my own. (And whilst I've apathetically not done any of the latter, the former has, thus far, been so far a few world-weary sighs, and - and I remember this quite clearly - an "Oh God" on my birthday evening as I crawled into my cold bed alone.

My birthday itself, well that was a washout as it was a Wednesday and I'd kept it to myself, which proved to be a little dumb for a sensitive little sausage like me, which is why I found myself sending an emergency party email on my iPhone (now dropped so often that I haven't been able to turn it off - one month now, and counting.) I sent it to some half a dozen friends who I thought would likely be in central London on Friday.

It ended up being just me, and Martin.
My Fridays are always just me, and Martin.
Don't get me wrong, because I enjoyed it. As I said to Martin at the time, at least we got to catch up - again - and had some quality time - again - instead of some lousy larger event with more of my friends all out in one place together.

And a week on as I type, I still haven't heard back from a couple of my oldest, dearest friends to say that they can't actually make it. Not even a Happy Birthday.
Nothing.

Cunts.

Other than that, things are fine and I'm settling in to my new rut nicely. I'm getting used to the commute and its reassuring daily certainties; leaving my flat bang on 7:50am and walking to the train station past the frightening tiny schoolgirl with the head of a 40-year-old (on her shoulders that is, not in a bag, or anything).
Sharing the platform with a man who walks like a duck.
Walking to work and passing a young blonde, angry of face, sturdy of thigh, and heaving of breast.
And getting roundly ignored.

And then getting on with that job I've been doing for nearly five years, that job that even my boss is hinting I pack in for something "nearer to home", that job that is starting to get annoying again, now that the deviation of buying my own place has come to its natural conclusion.

So things look like they're getting back to normal.

Next Week: My exciting weekend self harming in a darkened room as the eerie silence is broken by weak croaks of 'Why???', until I remember I can bring some sunshine into my decaying existence with eight-and-a-half minutes of frenzied self-love thanks to a wardrobe full of porn, an industrial-sized bucket of moisturiser and a towel, leading inexorably in one direction; more sobbing as my balls empty and hot tears roll down my face with the intensity of a thousand suns.

10 comments:

Huw said...

OMG, next week sounds much like the last two years of my life.

McTodd said...

I quite enjoyed that, until the last bit - 'Next Week' - which, despite my best efforts not to, has forced certain images into my mind which I cannot now expunge...

You shit.

daisyfae said...

getting comfortable with yourself takes a bit of time, but it's quite pleasant in the end. i don't bitch if i forget to shave my legs before an evening of Haagen Daaz, cheap wine and self love...

Dandelion said...

Off the topic somewhat, but I love the new look of your blog.

Maybe you should get a flatmate and pocket the money.

The Unbearable Banishment said...

So glad to see you've turned your flat windfall into a positive force in your life. Well done, you. By the way, in the "before" picture of a few posts ago, there's a bottle of beer next to a bottle of lotion on your desk. Was that pic taken on a Saturday night?

luna said...

"Now with added masturbation..."

Is that what's called a rider? With knobs on?

Anonymous said...

and that rubes is 'wankers angst'. or 'wangst', if you'd prefer. no amount of telling you all this, or all that, or that your pretty cool/funny/albeit a tubby ginger whingefeck will never do any good with you. even if you did find what you think it is your looking for to make you happy, i doubt very much that you'll recognise it anyway. your happiest on the outside looking in. so the only person responsible for fucking happiness, and i'm not talking jesus loves you happy-clappy hapiness here, is you. sort it out mate, its just a state of mind and if something isn't right then change it. and your the only limp wank who can do that.

Ellie said...

Like Dandelion, like the new look.

Homer said...

I can't help but feel slightly impressed that you manage to last eight and a half minutes on your own.

fwengebola said...

Huw ~ Here's to the next two. Cheers!
McTodd ~ Summon it up, R. The filthy heterosexual smut, the dark, the laughter, and then the tears. Taste the fear.
Df ~ Haagen Daas, you say? Methinks I've left something out of what should now be the New Holy Trinity...
UB ~ Actually, there are beers in both pictures. The latter was actually - oh god, the impending cliché - He'Brew from my trip to NY. It was a Lenny Bruce special edition.
Luna ~ One of these days I'm gonna get your comments.
Anon ~ Dammit, who are you? You've written before. I think you've even emailed and you're Northern.
But you're right, of course.
Annoyingly.
Ellie ~ Why thank you.
Homer ~ Sometimes I can get over 10, if I'm bored.