Secrecy and pork blood.

So, what’s happened after last night? Um, nothing. Sent her a text earlier on in the day and not got one back. Knowing how she’s usually got herself plugged into every possible means of communication I think it’s highly likely that I’m just being ignored. Which is fair enough I guess, let shit simmer down. I’m presuming that she hasn’t told her boyfriend, otherwise I’d have gotten at least a strongly worded PM by now. With a bit of luck that’ll be the end of it, or I’ll pay for it later, who knows. Hey, this not giving a shit malarkey is a piece of piss!

The day’s been more or less a write-off. The weather’s been fucking awful and I haven’t set foot over the door. Did get some more writing done having said that. The thing seems to grow a bit more each time, from a simple outline to a highly detailed synopsis, to something almost resembling a story. Most of the writing I’ve done hasn’t exactly been creative, I never knew “not trying to sound like a pretentious wank” was such a big part of it. But it’s still coming along nicely, even if I have a habit of beginning something, then thinking too far ahead and not remembering what it was I wanted to say in the here and now. When voice recognition has advanced to the stage that it can understand a Scottish moan, I doubt I’ll ever touch a pen or keyboard again. Which neatly segues onto your second portion of Scottish Comedy You’ve No Idea Exists:

Ho ho! Wasn’t that wonderful? And that’s from one of the shitter sketch shows! Anyway, due to me staying up until everyone normally heads off to work and feeling all cosy curled up in bed it was pushing seven in the evening by the time I woke up, knocking my routine properly out of whack so now I’m going to have to spend a day and a bit awake in order to compensate. Doesn’t really do much for my new healthy routine either. I’ve found myself eating about one meal a day and not feeling particularly hungry. Though it has been a lazy few days, not been burning many calories. At worst it’s been a bit of mild hunger, I’m looking to get fitter, not starve myself.

And this may sound stupid, but I’ve been keeping it fairly quiet as well, as in not telling anyone about my change in diet. What I’ve been doing has been working, and like most other things I do I learned years ago that if I want to enjoy doing them then I don’t tell my family. Regardless of the idea it’ll be at first either stupid or plain wrong, and eventually move onto not good enough. The first time I told my mum that I was going to college to do my Highers she asked me why I didn’t do a night class “like normal people.” Funnily enough the image I had in my mind was of a gay kid coming out to his staunchly conservative parents. All I did was say I was off to get some better qualifications. Go figure. At any rate, saying something like I’ve stopped eating as much shit will see me hearing that I should be doing X instead, telling them that I’m training will find me being told I either should be doing something entirely different or am doing it wrong. So I keep it quiet and tell nobody nothin’ as that means I can do whatever the fuck I please in relative peace. Like be unemployed and wonder if I’ll be stopped in the street by an irate boyfriend or two. That kinda stuff.

That’s it pushing seven o’clock, nearly a whole twelve hours of consciousness. My immediate plan is to head on up to my room and watch Captain America, which will take me up to a respectable time where I’ll come back out, go for a shower and if it’s still cold enough try to find myself a hot breakfast that doesn’t come with a heart disease warning on it. Man I miss black pudding, even if the main ingredient is “pork blood.” Then I’ll take the dog on a good long walk round the woods, and perchance buy myself twenty quids worth of dope and sail the night away. Have a good one peeps.