#saying this shit like its my diary and not in front of potentially hundreds of people its literally fine i do what i want. good NIGHT

[lesbiangiratina]

Goodnight every1 :)

[andyangus]

Sunday 10th January

Hangover number two of 2010. The old dears from Aunt Moira’s Psychic College can most certainly hold their own. I’ve been woken by my dishevelled mother in a pink, faux-silk housecoat, red and white polka dot cat-eye sunglasses and fluffy flip-flops. Her usual curly locks were matted to one side of her head as a result of passing out on the sofa at 2 a.m. Her voice reverberated like a Dalek with laryngitis as she bid me a half-hearted, ‘Good morning,’ and slid a bacon roll on my old bedside cabinet which is still adorned with Dr Who transfers. It was nice to be looked after. I’m normally the one running around, organising a grown man, a cat and myself, but for now, I’ll be taking it easy. The simplicity of childhood leaves us without a whisper of goodbye, and we never give it a second thought once it’s gone, because being older and wiser is supposedly better.

Mum and Dad say I can stay with them as long as I need, but to tell you the truth, I don’t think I can face living with semi-retired parents whose idea of a fun weekend is wandering around B&Q lusting after new garden furniture. It’s time to head home and face the music. I’ve no idea what’s going to happen. Where the hell do I go from here? Can I pack up my whole life in a 2001 Vauxhall Astra? Can the suspension take almost ten years worth of baggage? Will Thomas even be at home, or is he preoccupied living the life of a swinger?

9.25 p.m. I got back to find the cottage deserted. I knew Thomas would be finishing work soon, so I made a quick job of it after I’d ensured the coast was clear. His Datsun was in the driveway, but his van wasn’t. I’ve climbed the steps to that front door easily thousands of times, but this time it was like a mountain. I turned the lock and crept cautiously into the hall. Our blissful milestones were dotted within frames along the walls, eyeballing and mocking me as I crept through our home. I progressed towards the bedroom, in which I’d been told repeatedly we’d had the ‘best sex ever’. Passing the kitchen, I noticed a pile of dirty dishes overflowing from the sink and sliding slowly, with help from the scum and grease, across the draining board. Used pots were congealed to the hob. A futile attempt at washing clothes had been made, idle in the drum of the machine, probably musty from days before. A pile of dirty laundry was perched on the dining table in need of rescue. I continued along the hall: dirty towels laid on the bathroom floor; dirt from his boots coated the carpet all the way to the bedroom; the bed was a tumultuous sea of used linen; the curtains were still drawn, and drawers were yawning open.

I should’ve been satisfied that he couldn’t cope without me, not even for a few days, but it disgusted me. I’ve been used as a domestic for years, with little payment but for the odd hug and appreciative comment. I was so keen to please. So gullible.

Next to the bed, I found a small pile of clothing, purple in colour, and a killer pair of heels. I could almost admire the wearer for being able to walk in them, but I knew they were rarely used for walking: these were fuck-me-pumps. A female had been here who was comfortable enough to leave her shit lying around. I picked up the clothing by the flimsy straps. It was delicate and smelt of woman; entirely foreign to me. There were stains on the front and back. The pungent smell of sex clung to it like a desperate whore to a new pimp. I began to feel sick. I dropped the offending item and picked up the pace.

Finding my way through the crap, I stuffed a few cases and bin-bags quickly with clothes. I started by folding everything neatly but gave up on neatness as the clock ticked faster. Clothes packed, I filled a small box with sentimental relics from a life now lost. I piled them by the door and quickly carried each item to the car, unaware of the weight I was carrying until it came to my most prized possessions: my full collection of Doctor Who magazines and DVDs. They almost broke my back, but I wasn’t leaving them to be sold by some harpy on eBay.

During my last sweep around, I heard the familiar meow of the Colonel hungrily demanding his dinner in the kitchen, ignorant of the impending loss of a parent. I wondered if he sensed this would be the last time I’d feed him as I placed his bowl in its usual spot and tried to stop myself from crying. Just a quick burst of emotion and then there was the familiar sound of Thomas’ key turning in the lock and his boots scraping laboriously on the mat. He caught sight of me and paused as if in preparation for a battle. There we were, feet away from one another, but miles apart. Teetering on the edge of our past before stepping off into the unknown. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ he said.

‘Don’t act surprised, Thomas,’ I said, ‘there’s an Astra out there that I can barely shut the doors on.’

‘True,’ he muttered as he slid off his high viz coat and hung it neatly on the hook by the door. Why be so tidy about that? I remember thinking. The rest of the place is in as much turmoil as our lives.

‘I’m not staying, but then even your pea-brain could work that out. But as you’re here, answer me this: did you ever love me?’

He sighed, tucked his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, and said, ‘I did. For a while. Before it all became about the house, and work, and bills, and upsetting perfectly placed coasters.’

‘Fair do’s.’ I went to leave, but before I did, I said, ‘Just for the record, not that it matters much now, but I loved you with all my heart, and I honestly thought we were doing just fine. What a fool, eh?’

‘You’re no fool.’

‘Yeah, well, you could’ve fooled me. And you have.’ I threw my keys towards him. They bounced off his chest and landed at his feet. Before I shut the door behind me, I gave one parting shot, ‘Oh, and Thomas?’

‘Aye?’

‘A man who has such low self-esteem and who asserts his sexual prowess in lay-bys should never fuck with a pair of heels that are twice the length of his cock.’ Low, I know, but it’s all I had.

I was gone.

It saddens me to say it, but he looked relieved. For a relationship that lasted a decade, it ended swiftly. He owns a three-bedroom cottage with extensive gardens, a cat, and my potential happiness locked within. I own a car, two suitcases and four bin-bags of clothes, a pile of Doctor Who magazines and DVDs, a Hornsea pottery collection and a whole lot of emotional baggage. Not to forget a useless engagement ring that is mocking me from inside its box, which I found tucked at the back of Thomas’ sock drawer. He must’ve seen it in my sporran when I passed out at Hogmanay and sabotaged my plan. It seems he was determined that I would never find the perfect moment to propose.

It hasn’t been easy to drive through the dense, relentless snow with glazed eyes while I ponder the past and endeavour to find clues to his deceit within the parameters of our tiny life together, so I’ve pulled over at Thornilee Picnic Park to clear my thoughts. I’ve been here for an hour, scribbling in this diary by the tiny light above the rear-view mirror. I would’ve left ages ago, but my stupid car is stuck in thick snow. I have no mobile signal and have already eaten the emergency Yorkie I keep tucked in the seat pocket. I have no fluids of any sort. The fuel is low, therefore, I can’t leave the engine running, so that means no heater. Bloody fantastic. At this rate, they’ll find my blood-drenched trail in the snow after I’ve been dragged to the woods to be eaten alive by wolves. I have the distinct feeling someone is shitting on me from a great height.

Half a freezing hour later. Through the Dark, by KT Tunstall, was which I’ve listened to a hundred times before, rolled on the CD player and caused uncontrollable tears. Such big sobs. It’s never affected me before. I’ve always liked the song, the melody is well known to me, but the words came through loud and clear tonight and hit me like a baseball bat in the gut. For the first time in ten years, I’m alone. What the hell am I going to do now? The snow is the heaviest I’ve ever seen. I’m literally lost in a blizzard and confusion and despair is at every turn. My mind is blank. A total white-out, you might say.