Date: Wed, 8 Feb 2017 07:52:29 +0200 From: Charley Reed Subject: Reed 'em and Weep - ch 11: 24 March 2008 Monday 24 March 2008 Song of the day: Hey There, Delilah – The Plain White Ts. Okay, so local radio is KILLING this song almost a year after it came and went in like everywhere else. Welcome to the slow, backward, arse-end of the world, where they'd stick the hose if the planet needed an enema. Worst. Weekend. Ever. Firstly, my back is still in its poes, so I spent the last 60 hours or so stretched out and moaning every time I had to do anything. I have a physio appointment booked for lunchtime here at the university Sports Injuries Clinic. Not sure this is a sports injury, but they have on-site physiotherapists and they're cheap for students, so what could possibly go wrong? As it is, I about killed my already mortally wounded back beyond all reasonable death by having a dig under my bed Saturday morning trying to find my er... stash of printed visiosexual (it is a word if I say it is) stimulatory material. Not sure why I bothered, since as predicted on Friday I couldn't even find a position which was suitable to allow for a nice and measured build-up to the point of stress release, but I had the blue balls by late Friday night so I thought I'd have a bash at um... having a bash. Boy, am I regretting it. Anyway, not entirely sure what to tell whichever physio gets me; honesty being the best policy is all well and good, but do I really want "injury further aggravated while patient attempted to locate masturbatory accessories" written on a file somewhere where someone might read it? The whole episode was weird in and of itself, since I'm sure after the last time I, um... exercised, I put my sleeve of pics back in its usual hiding place, but it seems I'd put it into another box entirely. I'm getting a bit alzheimery, it seems; worrying at just 18. Secondly, things have been upped by a few notches of weirdness at home which didn't help things. The `rentals are clearly not speaking; even Mandy has pulled her ditzy high-school-girl head out of her arse for long enough and stopped planning next month's 17th Birthday Spectacular to realise something is amiss. I'll admit for the first time I am genuinely worried about what might happen to our little family. Dad and I were watching Liverpool get raped in the football yesterday afternoon; Mom was out and Mandy was... I don't know, doing whatever it is nearly-17 year old girls do (I'd like to think she was having a lady-wank, but I doubt it. Eeuuw, though – even considering it is like eleven different kinds of wrong). At half-time, Dad kinda looked at me lying there on the couch and said something like "I guess I'll be able to do a lot of that sometime soon, lying around waiting for something nice to happen." I don't think he was having a snipe about my doing nothing since he knows I've done my back in, but if not then it certainly was a hidden message of some sort. As it was, as soon as Mom got home, Dad decided to go do... something, anything, out of the lounge and away from my mother, even though he and I were really enjoying the game together. We. Ird. I wonder if one of them is sleeping around or something. Clearly they are massively disinterested in one another at the moment. Apparently I was missed during the series of traditional piss-ups over the weekend. It's nice to fit in. I can tell this is bugging Kim big time because she was quite the business back at HS and yet here I am, the living breathing epitome of not-hugely-popular-but-definitely-more-popular-than-her at varsity. And, quite frankly, it is pretty obvious that I am clearly The Guy and everyone else is really just being polite when they include her in discussions. Basically, she's kinda become my consort, a Camilla to my Charles. Perhaps my mom was right and I really am a catch. In which case, MM can cast his rod and tackle in my direction any time... -C Author's note: thanks for the kind messages over the last few weeks; glad it seems like most of you are enjoying reading the diary entries!