Pretty much I did nothing yesterday. I went to work, did not stuff my face, even with the temptation to eat cream egg mcflurrys by the litre, and stayed home in the evening. I danced badly around my living room for a good 10 minutes until I could stand the smell of sweat no more. The over exasperated whale look is not a good one. I smoked a malboro light (always menthol) as I sunk my fat ass into the sofa and wondered what on earth I should do. Not like with my life or anything, the day that Fee has a deep thought will be the day Margaret Thatcher quits the public eye. Oh that just happened. I then had a phonecall from a lady who thought I was my mother, does my voice sound that matured? Sadly, yes. Anyway, apparently this lady is a family member and I got talking to her, charmed her with my pleasant lesbian ways and she invited me to a party next week. I will be going, yes I will be going, yeah as my parents’ date. Humpf. And my parents were out last night. Fuck sake, how can my parents have more social occasions than I do? It’s so not right for your parents to be out and for me to be sat in watching shit TV reminding them not to make a noise when they come in cos ‘some of us have to work tomorrow’. Who died and made me 67? Ok so the folks will be propping up the bar with bottles of water, or maybe a wine spritzer and debating where they are going to stand for maximum comfort. Had they noticed the concert was ‘standing’ only I can bet the last remaining pennies in my miffy wallet that they too would be sat home tonight with only each other, the TV and me for company. At least they get out and at least I can smoke in the house without worrying about 1) whether they will smell it and 2) whether I will burn another hole in my carpet. Smoking is good. Smoking is one of the few things I actually do in moderation. I can take it or leave it. I took it from the ages of 16-19 in the form of Cutters Choice rolling tobacco. Wasn’t I the classy lady who people were ashamed to introduce to their friends? And from the ages of 19-22 I left it because I was considerate to someone else. In London I took it daily except on visiting friends and parents weekends. And no this wasn’t because American Chick Part Deux wanted a smokin’ buddy. It was cos it felt good to be floating around Finsbury Park with fag in one hand, and cigarette in the other. I didn’t bother for 2 days after my return but then I felt the need. Now I go some days some with, some days without. I don’t need to smoke, if I can go days without even a toke of some mentholated stick of shit then I can’t call smoking an addiction. I have control over it. I like that. So why bother I often ask myself when inhaling a breath of not so fresh air? It gives me something to do I guess. I like a smoke when I drink and I like to smoke in company but I do not consider myself a ‘social smoker’ cos even I find them just sad. I often sit alone and light up therefore I am not part of the ‘it’s trendy to smoke’ crew. Some do it for stress but I don’t want to give my non addiction any justification. I just do it and enjoy it when I do and do not miss it when I don’t. I smoke Silk Cut when Malboro Menthols are not available (they are hard to come by you know, especially in poverty packs) and for this I am berated. ‘You’d be as well smoking no tar fags if you are gonna smoke them’, I get that all the time. But it’s not the nicotine I need, it’s the act of actually doing it. And my throat cannot handle anything past the 0.1mg of tar. And off I go for another cigarette.
Tonight I am supposed to be going for an evening of Kylie/Madonna/Janet DVDs whilst putting my party frock on and necking cheap wine. And then I will be showing off my not so beautiful ass in Castros I guess. As Aberdeen aint exactly the thrive of excitement there’s pretty much nowhere else to go. I know there will be at least one person that I would like to be there, not in attendance and it makes me wonder if it’s worth even going but as I have mentioned, I like to dance, albeit badly but dance nevertheless.
The thought of Cadbury crème egg Mcflurrys
Scatman john (even though ‘scat’ is shit referenced)
Early nights, alone
Getting over things
Weight taking ages to dislodge itself