That sense of impending doom.

Just over a week until I get my exam results in, not looking forward to them. I know that I’ve almost certainly failed one subject entirely, and didn’t get enough sleep before two more, so it’s only one subject I think I’ll have gotten decent marks in. Having said that, even if I was likely to get four straight As, I wouldn’t know what the fuck to do with them. I’m going to see about trying to get back onto the course for a second year, probably left it too late though. It’s a cunt to hear people my age with trades behind them, or talking about honours dissertations, and I’m worrying about shit they haven’t thought about since they were 17.

The run at the end of august is looming up into view as well. I’ve been going a run in the woods with my dog like some sort of retard Rambo with a pair of boots on as that’s all I had. Getting a cheap pair of trainers so I can do some road running instead. God bless JSA. Going to pick it up to running most days of the week, I’ve got the free time so there’s not much excuse for me not to concentrate on it. Running alone can be a bit of a bastard, but that’s what dog’s are for. Cutting until after the run as well, just trying to shift as much beef as I can, then start proper weightwork afterwards. It’s sad, looking forward to buying a pair of trainers, though mainly it’s because they won’t kill my feet as much as riggers do. I could live like a hobbit thanks to my now bullet-proof feet.

Was meant to be seeing the final Harry Potter film tonight with the family, kind of a tradition as the five of us have went to see every other one together. As has become the way though a big fight broke out, and that’s not happening anymore. Stupid shit that just balloons for no reason. Well, another night trawling for work and rotting my brain with How I Met Your Mother in the background. You can tell it’s a shit night when you’re having to resort to your hangover TV shows.

On the plus side, today Scotland was officially hotter than LA. Everyone was acting like skin cancer was going out of style.

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The lesser, better evil.

Had a choice between two parties on saturday, a house party at Marsha’s or a garden party in the next door neighbour’s. Unsurprisingly I chose the former, where I didn’t have to be on my best behaviour. Hadn’t seen anyone in a couple of weeks, so it was nice to walk in the door to a load of hugs, kisses, handshakes… and some complimentary cocaine served on the DVD case of an early noughties romcom. I gave that particular luxury a body swerve for a while, deciding that it’d be far more sensible (not to mention socially acceptable!) if I just tanned a bottle of whiskey and any sambucas that came my way. For a while the night became slightly fuzzy, as is wont to happen when you’re daft enough to have a week and a half worth of units in the space of around three hours. Shit was talked, laughs were had, friends were made, even a few phone numbers exchanged. Then came the coke, and what I woke up this afternoon thinking was one thin line a millimetre thick I found out tonight was actually a fair few chunky Tony Montana’s. For a guy a that doesn’t do coke. With what I’m told was “right good fuckin’ shit man.” While so drunk my blood flow was practically in reverse. Not the best idea I’ve ever had I must confess.

I’ve always had a suspicion that the one illicit substance that would do me real harm would be coke. There isn’t really anything about it that I like. And it’s probably the most unsexy commonly used drug in the world. There can be a certain seductive quality to a girl with a spliff in her hand, or holding a glass in a club. Even a tab of E can be given with a kiss, but taking a line of coke? You’re bent over, a rolled up £20 note stuck up one nostril, cross-eyed so you make sure you get the whole line and snorting like a pig. Call it my inner snob, but it’s too undignified a way to take something. There’s a neediness to the whole thing that I don’t like. And hell, I can’t even remember it particularly well. A vague feeling that my heart was pounding, and my drunken thoughts at the time were made a bit sharper but equally disjointed. Nothing life changing, no awesome high, just another shit thing done. Ho hum.

The rest of the night is a bit of a blur, after I left Marsha’s I seem to have went somewhere else, though I’m not entirely sure. I did however find a guy passed out drunk, in my kindness I gave him my bottle of Lucozade (that I can’t remember buying) got him to his feet and told him to stagger on somewhere a bit safer. If he’d lain there any longer there’s every chance he’d have finally come round to find whatever money he’d had stolen, along with his phone and whatever else he had on him, if they hadn’t been already. The joys of living in a polite society. The sun was up by the time I had gotten home, and I found that I was both wanting yet completely unable to fall asleep. A few more beers tipped the scales in my favour thankfully. When I woke up I found a snorkel and scuba mask lying on my bedroom floor. Nobody seems to know where they came from.

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A Tale of Two Ladies

I’m at a bit of a loss where to start with this one. Would you like a happy ending or a sad one? Let’s have a happy(er) one, as that means I don’t need to fuck with the chronological order of things, I’m too tired right now to pretend I’m Tarantino. It’s the Ex first. It’s a biggie, so there’s a wee fancy jump button, go click it.

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The paint dries.

I need some sort of structure in my life, because right now I have absolutely none at all. The family spent a couple of weeks on holiday not long ago, and I really enjoyed it. Partly because it was my holiday too, peace and quiet is hard to find when living with four other people, but a sizeable chunk of it was because I had to look after myself, and had the responsibility of caring for the dog. I don’t want to build it up into something larger than it is, it was just living alone for a fortnight, but it felt good. They came back on Friday and I slipped back into doing fuck all. Woke up after three o’clock in the afternoon today. Didn’t mean to, just that I subconsciously knew that there was no shit needing doing so I slapped the alarm clock off when it started ringing and carried on sleeping. A waste of an entire day. Lying in until the afternoon means that I’ll stay up later, flipping myself back onto nocturnal living, which I’ve been trying to avoid, as it’s harder to find anything to do other than sit on my arse for five hours in the middle of the night watching downloaded TV shows. Still, less than a week since I slipped back into bad habits, easily rectified. I’ll get up earlier tomorrow, take the dog out for a long walk in the woods, and spend the afternoon firing off lovely personalised CVs to all and sundry in the hopes of gaining employment.

As I’ve mentioned them, I’ll take a note of the immediate family: Mum is Mum, Dad is Dad, and I have two little brothers a few years younger than me (I’m the eldest) called Thickness and Goggles. Thickness is the middle brother, a bit chubby, a little bit shy and awkward in social situations. I worry that his brotherly beatings by me when he was younger has made him that way. He’s coming out of his shell a bit more as time goes on, one day he’ll have his “fuck it” epiphany and be fine. Goggles, so-called because he wears glasses when he isn’t around the “ladies”, is the youngest and a bit of an indie/emo kid. The opposite of Thickness, he’s a skinny wee runt who for years lived on a staple diet of plain pasta and Haribo. He’s outgoing, spends more time out of the house than in it, and probably goes to more adventurous lengths to fund his gigs-n-drink lifestyle than I’m currently aware of. They’re five and six years younger than me, respectively, so we’ve never really been that close growing up as I had so much of a head start. While they were still thinking of Pokemon, I was worrying about booze and getting my hole. Now that they’re a bit older the difference isn’t as big, and we can do more stuff together now. So that’s the immediate family, no real drama with any of them, a fairly normal household, not much more that can be said about them. There’s the dog too, who’s just the dog.

It’s far too easy to sit down and mean to check a couple of sites then end up spending a few hours sat in front of a computer screen doing absolutely nothing productive. It’s like the world’s shittest time machine that only goes one way. At the end of August I have a six mile assault course to do, my dad put me onto it and in a brief moment of “why the hell not” I signed up for it. Doing it will be good for me, but having something like that on the horizon is also very good at making a week fly by without even noticing. The race itself is in Glasgow, alongside (and partially in) the Clyde, so bound to be tough. I want to push myself as hard as I can, and as I’m not working right now, there’s no reason why I can’t do it for a couple of hours each day. The actual doing it part is fun, the making myself start part is the main obstacle. And what to do for the rest of the day? It’s nearly 10pm here, the sun is setting. and my plans to go over to Marsha’s flat fell apart when she texted saying she’d locked out her bank card and so couldn’t put money in her electricity meter, meaning we’d have been sitting in the dark. We met at college and have grown close, though for once I can safely say it’s entirely platonic. My next entry will probably be about how we met, which will no doubt encompass the epic tale of The Ex as well, as the end of one relationship overlapped with the beginning of the other, though not in any romantic way. For now, I’ll make do with trying to write for the first time in more than a week, which for some reason I haven’t been able to bring myself to do, and maybe watch six or fourteen episodes of Supernatural…

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It’s a start.

This is my first proper blog that I’ve made. I did have a thread over on Prey’s World (go have a look and join, they’re a nice bunch) for a few years until the folder was retired and I was left homeless with nowhere to moan about the world or get things off my chest. This blog is going to be largely about my life, the people in it, where it’s been and where it’s going. As it’s a blog rather than a dedicated thread on a forum I may venture into posting more varied things than I once did, just for an experiment and see what kind of shape this is going to take.

To reiterate what I’ve said in the “About” section, I’m a young guy in his early twenties living not far from Glasgow in Scotland. Right now I’m single, jobless after leaving college, and lacking a plan for the future. Things could be better, things could be worse. What I write here is largely for myself, a place to vent and perhaps look back on further down the line, though I do keep in mind that other people can read this and so try to make it more legible and without the inaccessibility of when I write solely for myself.

I’ll be using nicknames for the people featured, as well as a history of who they are to me and how we met. I’ll tag those posts appropriately so a “cast of characters” is available to those who want to know. Apologies to those who have read it all before, but hey, a new (and maybe even bigger) audience! I’ll see about getting the biographies out of the way with their own dedicated entries, not sure how I’ll do it yet. For the most part this blog is going to be text, rather than pictures, it’ll keep the place tidy and means I won’t have reaction face images all over the place. And this will probably be the politest post there’ll be, because I use fuck as a piece of punctuation, amongst most other naughty language. I accept that I may end up offending some, but where I’m from it’s colloquial language, part of informal talk amongst equals. While typically seen as the strongest swear word in the English language, even “cunt” can be used affectionately in Scotland.

I plan on updating fairly often, so check in regularly! And feel free to comment, I welcome them, and will attempt to reply promptly.

Hope you enjoy reading,

Johny.

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