[Title] in Down and Out in Dorset

It’s not easy to give up smoking. I should know, I’ve never done it. As I sit here in my home, which is made of canvas, candle aglow and cigarette hanging out of the corner of my mouth, it occurs to me that I’ll quite likely never quit smoking.
This is kind of depressing, yet in a way quite freeing; at my age, which is young enough to still have lots to learn yet old enough to know better, if you haven’t quit you probably never will.

It’s just gone 12AM, and I really have nothing better to do.

Flashback to just a few years ago, where I made my way through life one bottle at a time on the mean and dirty streets of central London, a cesspit of a city that I hated and loved in equal yet varying measure. For the sake of my health and my sanity I left, taking nothing with me but my minor possessions and my dog. I left behind quite a lot, none of which I care to discuss, and all of which I will be happy to never see again.

It’s not much of a life, but it is a life, one that I am very much attached to.

Skip ahead a few years now and I’m almost domesticated. Sure, I live in a tent, for lack of a better word (you should see it, “tent” does it no justice) in the woods, very almost married to a wonderfully batshit insane woman, working my arse off to keep what little I have. Including whatever remains of my tenuous grip on my own sanity, such as it is.

Hi, I’m Matty. You may regret this.

Last updated August 16, 2017