who am i?, identity, homeless, i used to be someone

Who am I turning into?

The other day I did something that made me shudder. And it wasn’t even fun. It seems that, against all the odds, I am turning into the kind of person who…

Buys walking boots and a cagoule

I am prepared for every weather eventuality AT ALL TIMES. I even have trousers to walk the dog in, all thermally and terminally ugly. And a rucksack for my hurty back. I laugh in the face of the apocalypse. And rain. Just not too much rain. And not on my hair please.

Picks something out of the washing machine and says, ‘Ooh, that came out nice’

WTF? I wasn’t even on (many) drugs at the time. I even sniffed someone the other day and said, “I like your washing powder smell” and then, wait for it, “What do you use?” When did this happen? Who is this laundry lady?

Has fifty, maybe seventy, kinds of herbal tea

Not just mint or lemon and ginger, but Love if I am feeling sad, Detox because fat, Night because see below…

Talks about sleep ALL THE TIME

More than sex, more than Syria, more than Homeland, more than where to go on holiday, more than Beyonce at Coachella

And… if manages a good night sleep (ha) in a strange bed (ho)…

I might check the mattress to see where it’s from… And then write that down somewhere safe.

Complains about mumbling on TV

Speaking of Homeland, does anyone understand what Saul is saying? Or anyone on any BBC4 drama? Or anything at all?

Has started worrying about crepey cleavage

Particularly what with Spring and the sad, yearly farewell to polo necks. *rubs masses of cream on décolleté* *sweats profusely*

Sweats profusely

WOW. Is it normal for a human woman to be this disgusting?

Listens to chanting

If you see me with very smart John Lewis Bose noise-cancelling headphones, I will tell you that I am listening to Cardi B’s new album. I am actually listening to Chanting Om: Meditation on the 7 Chakras….

Carries tissues

I hate that I carry tissues. I sometimes even spit on them. I hate myself. And why do I always wash my jeans without removing the sodding tissues from the bastard pockets. White bits. Everywhere. Forever.

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