Meds

I’ve just finished getting over the kind of illness where you can’t remember being well and I can honestly say an STI would have been more entertaining/bearable. Finally off the paracetamol, lempsip, eye drops, throat spray and toilet.

The last month has been a huge, well-prescribed man pile.

A while ago I was having a tiff with 90’s Blonde over her decision to stay and ogle her 3-year acid crush while I attempted to stick to the original plan and make the end of a friend’s gig across town. The ‘BAT JUS WAN MRE DRNKK’ syndrome was wearing thin on me and we barely had time to apologise for missing his set. I was also starving and subconsciously converting to a homo-erectus state, eyeing every seedy chicken/kebab/severely European food outlet I could see outside. #sheerdesperation. 

A tasty little number had been visually mousetrapping me since I walked in. Suitable attire, beardy (the usual) but I ignored any advances and tried to escape while I could. 90’s Blonde was NOT happy about leaving and insisted there was some kind of warehouse rendezvous happening later (highly doubtful) and if so it would have been full of crackheads (too high for anyone). I had no choice but to be a boss and walk out.

I saw The Beard smoking outside and bibbidi bobbidi boo OUT CAME THE TEENAGE ANGST:

“You could have said something”

#realsmooth

“I…I didn’t really have time”

“Give me your phone”

He produced a small box with lights on (#barelyrecyclable).

“What’s your name?”

“You’ll find out when you text me”

I then proceeded to follow after Blondie-Blown-A-Fuse, spending the night at a friends due to rowing and staying sat down on the train after she got off. I was satisfied with my return to eating out and wondered if The Beard would take my order.

(Source: shagbagtag)

Anonymous
PLEASE WRITE SOME MORE, i love your blog x:

Thank you! <3
I’ve had so much work I’ve hardly come on, but I’ll write as soon as I can :) x