this & that (a life without bubblewrap)

Whatcha been up to? “This & that”

How you feelin? “So-so”

In the past few weeks I’ve smashed up a lot of stuff.  Not least a loving relationship based on rum, fun, rambling (both types) & laffing…as opposed to mutual mundane torture, as is the norm…  What can I say except I’m terribly skilled at kicking myself in the teeth?

I’ve been packing all my stuff up in the cohabited flat, and so dismantling our life together, taking to pieces our ying & yang of DH mountain bikes, moomin pictures, 70s coffee tables & micro-brewery paraphernalia.  I was wrapping up picture frames today to protect them for their travels, bubble-wrap & masking tape & rolls of old lining paper.  I finally came to my favourite frame, one I bought from an antique/junk shop on Abbeydale Road, back in my Sheffield days, all decoratively carved wood, scratched by time & provenance.  I leaned my knee on it to secure some tape and CRRAAACCKK.  Being on the fragile side, I began bawling like a kid fallen off their trikey, but as quickly as the tears spurted, they stopped, like a kid being handed a lollypop, and so immediately forgetting why he was upset.  It was my pretensions to ‘art’ that stopped the tears & made me fetch my camera & alter the lighting in the room.  I’ve got a thing about photographing smashed glass.  Which is just as well.  I’ve worked in bars for nearly 10 years, surrounded by glassware & crockery, and one of the few errant genes I’m sure of is the clumsy gene.

They say clumsiness is linked to emotions, and I can vouch I can measure my own stability/happiness by how often I break shit.  At the most anxious/unhappy time in my life I was smashing a couple of things per shift.  Needless to say the head bartender (a dickweedious blob of an ego, also my then-boyfriend’s housemate) would rip it out of me every time, and while I’m certainly able to return such ‘banter’, it didn’t make the bags under my eyes any lighter.  That particular job/boyfriend scenario was one of my lifes lowest ebbs, and before I left both I even managed to break someone’s arm.  Another dickweed thankfully, through the ‘gross negligence’ of leaving a box of wine in the way.  A trip hazard it seems.

In the past week or so, there have been some breakages.  My favourite being an entire tray of salt & pepper pots at the end of a saturday night slog.  Sneezy, Dopey & Grumpy were all present by the end of the evening, sweeping up the debris of my self-esteem.

Have you ever bought a pint, set it down on the table, gone to take your seat (mid-conversation) & up-ended the entire unsupped pint into your own lap?  I’ve done that twice.  Once it was Guiness, once it was Black Sheep Bitter.  Although they both happened at good times in my life (Sheffield city of dreams), so on my sliding scale of being a clutz, skirt-full-of-beer = good, glass-i-barely-touched-exploding-near-my-face = bad.

Anyway, back to the packing…

Over & owt.

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