Thursday, 6 December 2012

Really Long Encounter.

Goodbyes are hard.

I don't do emotional goodbyes. If you're saying goodbye to someone that you think you're going to miss then just say goodbye to them and go. No holding them for too long or staring into their eyes. Just fuck off. You're only making it worse. Just smile, say "great seeing you" and go. Then when they're out of sight you are completely free to collapse on the ground in a sea of your own tears and snot. I have swam those murky, salty, snotty waters before. I know how it feels. But sometimes you just have to do it. It's dignified. Say goodbye and go.

I am not a hoarder. If there's something in my house that I don't need, I get rid of it. I have boxes of Star Wars toys from when I was a child and they're all ready to be sold. I'm going to take them to a car boot sale and get rid of them. I loved them once but that once was when I was 12. Sadly, I have been 12 for over 30 years and it's time to let go. My Doctor Who toys too. All going. And I don't care. I have an emotional attachment to what they meant to me a long time ago (and a not so long time ago) but not to the physical things themselves. They're bits of plastic and they're useless to me. I will say goodbye to them and go. And that's how I am with non-sentient, and the odd sentient, things. Except this sofa.

My sofa is leaving today. It's being replaced by a new, more sophisticated, mature sofa. I'm trying to spend as much time with the old sofa as I can before The Red Cross take it away to be put down or whatever it is The Red Cross do with old furniture. It's blue, it's filthy, it's lumpy. It's basically me: the furniture. I met it in 1999 and we have been practically inseperable ever since. It knows me. It knows my ridiculous shape and it clearly wants to show its love only to me. Practically anyone who has ever sat on my sofa complains about how uncomfortable it is. Yet when I lie on it it hugs me, looks after my back and it even seems to sigh "close your eyes, Michael. Let me cradle you. No need to work or pay bills or feed the dog. Let sofa take care of everything. Ssshhhh..."

You don't know people that make you feel as good as a loyal sofa does. And it remains loyal no matter what. I've been sick on this sofa. More than once. But I cleaned it up and the sofa forgave me and made it's cushions fit round my weird shape once again. Jerk has grown up on this sofa. I've ripped it twice. Jerk has ripped it loads of times. And it's still sooooooo comfy. Just right. Not for everyone, it's not a slut. But it's always there for me and Jerk. I'm going to really miss it so much. I hope whoever The Red Cross give it to loves it as much as I do. I hope they get to see the beauty in its many stains, its numerous lumps and its loving smell. And, man, I've wanked on this so many times.

Hmmm...It's a major focus for my wanking and I have to just let it go. I'm sure there's a metaphor in there somewhere.

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