Portland Net

Every single muscle in my body is sore and wondering what's so wrong with lying on the couch eating takeaways and drinking beer. I didn't realise quite how out of shape I've been getting the last couple of months. Too bad, body, at the very least I have a dog to walk.

Jack
I've been sort of thinking a bit, and, it's not like I don't know that I am not exactly the most mentally stable healthy person around. I mean, I can mostly tell when I'm reacting to something in a way I never would have before, at least in hindsight, and I know I used to be more fun less obsessive focused. But... I don't want to die, or more importantly, I don't want to be dead, really, anymore, which I think is more relevant. I want to live. And it kind of feels important to say(/write) that to someone other than me.

I have a job in a shop! Selling clothes! It's so menial interesting, I've never had a job before. Normally children are brought up to perform the same trade as their parents, or become an apprentice to someone else. Often the same family that runs the production of something would also sell it, though of course we have traders and merchants as well. But here it seems as though food is the only thing that's ever made where it's sold, and even then only occasionally. I walked past a shop today that advertised that they made their own bread!