It's a Saturday night and I’m steadily closing tabs on my phone's browser because I feel anything past 40 is too many.
Signs you could be a hypochondriac? Gone. How to be emotionally available. Gone. Julia Roberts films. Gone. Steve Jobs quotes. Gone. Polyfilla. Gone. Who falls in love faster? Men vs women. Gone. TIPHEDE IKEA rug. Gone. (I quite liked that actually) A website about a podiatrist in the area. Gone. What’s the difference between a cold, the flu, seasonal allergies and coronavirus? Gone. (But I’ll be fishing through my history for that in five minutes) At least 15 tabs on cardigans. Gone. Can you take paracetamol tablets if you’ve used ibuprofen gel? Gone. The same website three times because I kept forgetting what I was searching for. Gone. The 36 questions that lead to love. Gone.
Ruthless.
I have two permanent tabs I never close. They remain at the top like limescale floating in a freshly made cup of tea, brewed from a kettle that’s not been cleaned in a while. Still good though. Tab one is the link to my final Masters' project that exists forever (I hope) on the printer’s website. It’s been two years since I graduated and I still look over this. It amazes me. Tab two is Le Labo Eau de Parfum - Another 13. Don’t talk to me till you’ve smelt it.
I now feel at least 1% digitally lighter.
It’s a real balmy evening in London and I’m writing this as I’m trying, yet again, to make an oversized shirt work for me. I bought a corduroy one a size too big so it’s essentially doubly oversized. In theory, this should look sexy, I should look sexy but I just look like a painter, every single time. Someone let me get behind a potter’s wheel, I’m ready...I’ve added a sweater vest and it’s only getting worse...Wait, it’s a moment!!...No, it’s not...Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Fuck, I hate doing returns.
Before I go I just wanted to share this poem I saw on the Overground while travelling home the other night - makes me feel a bit emotional.
BYE,
Lauren xo
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