My First Blog Post

Pepper and CC invited me to join in. I don’t know why. They do computer, while I do typewriters. It’s a throwback to my rebellious college days. Everyone else embraced Facebook, I embraced the pen, paper and the Brother Typewriter.

Tonight, I sit. A few drinks on me. I look at my hands. They shine. There’s wrinkles. Far too many wrinkles for a 30 year old man. The shine is not a healthy glow. It’s greasy and dirty. I shower daily, but for all the good it does I may as well take a shower in vegetable oil.

I look under my nails.

Firstly, I see dirt. I should get some kind of nail brush. Then  I realise I’m holding my hand out like a puff, examining his nail varnish. I’m alone, but I still quickly put my hand down and look around to see if anyone saw me. Stupid really.

I’m 30 years old and my eyes are drooping down my face. My nose is lopsided. My adam’s apple seems to be building some kind of fort, how large it’s grown. My veins protrude through my skin. I’m sure if I was a junkie this would be a bonus, but I’m not. Instead, I’m a 30 year old man with junkie veins on my hands…and feet…and neck.

I’m getting old. I know I’m too young to say that, but I really feel it. All of my friends are either a number of years older than me (so I feel I sit in their age group) or they are many years younger (and I just feel like their older brother). I listen to the Beatles and the Kinks and Bowie. The closest I’ve come to liking modern music is Amy Winehouse…and she’s fallen off planet reality.

I have a smokers cough. I quit three years ago, but I can’t shake this cough. I sometimes cough up blood. It’s revolting. My doctor says it’s normal. He’s an ass.

I found a grey hair in my red beard yesterday. Yes, I’m a ginger bollox!! I’m a ginger bollox with a grey hair in his beard. Do I puck it? Do I dye it? Do I just ignore it?

My hairline is receding too. Actually, it’s developing some kind of tactical deployment. If it was simply receding, that would be fine. Instead, it’s like some kind of patchwork quilt…without the pretty colours and interesting designs.

Oh god!

I have a son too. Granted, he’s now exactly half my age and I haven’t seen him since I was a teen myself, but that adds to my contemplations on the everafter.

My brother died last year. He was…yep, you guessed it…30 years old. It was a heart attack. My grandad died of a heart attack at 33. My uncle died of a heart attack at 35. My cousin died of a heart attack at 31. And my brother – 30.

I drink heavily. I am recovering from an addiction to cigarettes. I don’t exercise. I drive everywhere. I have no girlfriend, no sporty mates, no fancy gym membership. If I make it to 31, I’ll be lucky.

So…I guess…wish me luck…