The Adult

It’s fair to say I don’t know how to be an adult. Not in the usual way, that sort of knowing wink to camera shit. Ho ho! I’m so ditzy I shouldn’t be old because I haven’t grown up yet! Tee hee! Aren’t we all the same!

No. I am not. In my case, I’m still actually living the life of a child. Because I don’t think they should get all the glory. The berks. Ever since a wakeful nightmare in about er….1988…where I lay awake, staring blankly into a murky, cold ceiling, I mused upon how terrifying it would be growing up. How would I deal with the change? How would I talk to people and do a jobs? Find a woman?

I never worked that out. I’ve not moved on. I shambled from the school gates, uniform crammed full of the hasty scrawls of felt-tips, signatures of the schoolmates that I would no longer inhabit a space with, learning stuff.

Thing is…I never changed those clothes. I’m walking around in a child’s clothing. I’ve got that uniform on. It’s several sizes too small, and it stinks. Twenty-two years later, I’m walking around in a school uniform, collar tight and choking, stained and rancid shirt. Stuffed in, sores and all, like a pineapple in a sock. I look ridiculous.

Not really. I did have to change clothes. When I finally lost my virginity. I had to hack myself out with a tin opener. Hardened, brittle shells fell off that day, clattering to the floor in a sickening lump of cloth.

It’s fair to say, she was impressed. “Have you been wearing that uniform since you left school?”, to which I replied, yes, as I picked shards of shirt from my grey, mottled scrotum.

I walked the streets, not knowing how to eat, or to take fluids. I ate Spectrum tapes. I drank Marmite. Not after dilution. Just as it was. I didn’t know the difference between liquid and solids. Often, I would simply throw it into my mouth, choking and retching into the noon sun.

I wore trousers on my head for a year. I thought that was the look. Head poking out of one end. Arms, uneasily stuffed through the other leg. It was a disaster at job interviews.

Advertisements

About neilstilwell

Abseiling into trouble, a sewer rat staring at the stars. Disgusting. You can assist my search for the one ring by buying a Kindle version of this diary from here. http://www.amazon.co.uk/frozen-fridge-Zoomeister-Diaries-ebook/dp/B00C426DD0/ref=sr_1_sc_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1366481719&sr=8-1-spell&keywords=a+frozen+turd+in+a+hot+frudge It has some other stuff in it, and a dreadful cover.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s