Mosquitoes. Latch onto you and suck your blood.
Leave you with a horrendous itch and a scar that doesn’t seem to want to go away. Sounds all too familiar.
Have you ever done anything you’ve been told not to do? I find it a bit of a challenge. I guess I’ve always had a problem with authority. I mean for example, have you ever been told on holiday you can’t take a kayak out past the buoys in the sea and then just taken one once the guys not looking and rowed as fast as you can until the security guard in his speedboat 145
comes and tells you off like little children? Or been in a posh hotel and crept outside to the outdoor jacuzzi at 2 in the morning and sat in it for an hour for the pure hell of it? Gone rowing on a lake, ignoring a sign saying ‘Don’t go near the water jets’? Saying at work you urgently need to run out to the bank and then sneakily nipping off round the corner for a quick fag?
Booking a holiday to Greece for two weeks when you only have one week off college, then ringing them from the resort after the first week, bar music in the background, claiming you’ve returned home but have been stuck down with a bad case of food poisoning?
Different situations maybe. But don’t lie. We’ve all done it. It’s how we’ve socially evolved.
….I’ll continue this later as I think I’m about to get bollocked for writing at work. No, fuck it. It’s quiet today, the phones aren’t ringing and I’m bored fucking stupid. There’s nothing for me to do. Well, I suppose I could find something to do but I have little motivation. None actually. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. Yes, this job has its perks. I get to go on nice trips and see some of the world –
well, as much of the world as you can see through western hotels designed for rich, mainly ignorant wankers but somewhere deep deep down I have the feeling I’m actually selling my soul.
I sometimes feel that my life is one constant bleeding menstrual period. I sometimes feel that I couldn’t be happier. Which is it? Is it both or neither? What is my perception worth anyway?
Maybe I could keep writing this book forever. On my deathbed, hand over a ridiculously thick volume of indecipherable waffle. I have a feeling I may not reach a grand old age though. I’d like to. More than 146
anything I’d like to grow old with the man I love. I think my body might have other plans though. I think cancer will grab me in the end. I seem to keep evading it. I hope I’m just being morbid. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t dwell on it. I just wish I hadn’t had so many run ins. Maybe that’s it. Maybe I’ve had my fair share but nature doesn’t seem to work like that does it? Oh well, I shall do my best. I love you Matthew.
I know I’m harping on about life and death. It’s only because a friend died a couple of weeks ago. Not the man I mentioned earlier. This man was 42 years old.
Absolutely tragic. He died in his sleep. I’m sure his children’s lives are shattered. His partner loved him honestly and truly as he did her. It does make you stop and think. Death is random. We have to come to terms with that but it doesn’t make it any easier. The funeral was a humanist service. It’s what he would have wanted. No religious mumblings. There were tears. There was also a lot of holding back of tears, something I’ve never really understood. He wasn’t what I would call a great friend. To be honest, he was someone I knew in the village, that I stood and talked to, danced with when there was a truly bad band playing or simply sat and played dominos with. He and I got so carried away dancing once that I tripped over one of the speakers and fell arse first into the singing duo. He used to get annoyed if I got a crossword clue right that he’d been pondering over at least two pints of bitter for. Alternatively, he’d laugh hysterically every time I beat him hands down at darts. No matter. I miss having him around. You’d have liked him.
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