Retelling some Tales of Retail (and a Poem)

I can honestly say that in the past few weeks I have had no time to sit down and write about things. I have also had no time to paint my nails, moisturise my legs, buy enough Christmas presents or go to the gym. I did manage to buy some more oats and fleece lined tights though.

I've basically been working full time in retail, which I can assure you, is no easy feat. It started subtly, I folded some jumpers, I made sure rows of parkas were neat-ish. I remember being pleasantly surprised after my first day of work: I get payed for this? Marvellous!
And then I began to understand that working with clothes during the holiday season is hard labour, physically and mentally.
That clothes lose their charm when you've seen them and felt them over 723 times.
That to most shoppers you are nothing but a minute part of their consumer experience, there to serve when needed.
My arms ache every day from carrying at least 18 items of clothing at once and the back of my left forearm is permanently slightly numb. Nerve or muscle damage? Hoping muscle.
The idea of spending more time in a brightly lit area blasting the same musical playlist every day is magnified by the simple fact that I have not received my pay check for what feels like too long. But, when it arrives a mere three days after Christmas I know my achey numb arms and I will breathe a sigh of relief and visualise the flight to Tokyo I'm hoping to purchase very soon.
You know that beautifully Gangsta-esque saying: Work hard, play hard? I get that.

What has made the past few weeks of intense work much more bearable (aside from really sweet colleagues and listening to Tame Impala) is that I was finally able to send off my UCAS application! Thank you so much to everyone who has supported to me and helped me get to this point. It's been a long journey, and it's only just properly starting. The dream to finally move back to the UK, and to study something I am so keen to learn about is becoming reality and it's just.. wonderful. Hard work  pays off. However slowly.
Having received an invitation for an interview at one University already, I'm feeling very positive and excited. Life is what you make of it, as cheesy and as impossible as it sounds at times.

As I have really had no time for photography, here is a poem. It's about someone much older than me, who no one I know knows and I wrote it waiting for a train on Thursday.

Thank you for being a comfort
Through spilled and loosely arranged words
And salty eyes, red eyes
Acne, dry fingertips
When my life had died.

That quiet room
That journey to and fro
And hasty words, true words
Answers, questions
One hundred and fifty times you drew the curve,
I filled in.

Of all the people
That don't share my blood
I feel you are proof,
Of relations.

And now I'm back to enjoying my Sunday off. Because last night I didn't get home until about 2 in the morning. And I had to cycle. And it was freezing.
So all I'm doing today is drinking green tea and planning trips to London with old Australian friends.

(This is the original version of 'Riot Van'. Yes, it's really got something the album version hasn't, and not just the word 'bong'.)

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