eleven mugs

right so here’s the thing about mugs — naebody needs eleven of the bastards. i’ve got eleven mugs in this flat and i live alone. one human mouth. two hands at best. eleven mugs. that’s nine mugs worth of delusion sittin on a shelf pretendin tae be useful.

i quit ma job three weeks ago. project manager. which is a fancy way of sayin i got paid tae care about other people’s deadlines while havin none of ma own. and one mornin on a call about a Q3 roadmap — a ROADMAP, mind — i thought: if none of this happens, the sun still comes up. the pigeons in neukölln still shite on the same bench. nothin changes. and somethin in me just… went “aye, that’s you done then.”

so now i’m in berlin wi nae job and eleven mugs and every café in this city has a wee shelf of ceramics by the register and apparently i’ve got the willpower of a wet biscuit because i keep buyin them. it’s like ma hands think if i collect enough mugs i’ll become the kind of person who has his life sorted. spoiler: i am not that person. that person has three mugs, max. matching ones.

here’s what naebody tells ye about quittin — it doesnae feel like freedom. it feels like jumpin off a bridge and the water hasnae arrived yet. ye’re just… there. in the air. yer stomach’s up in yer throat and ye cannae tell if ye’re brave or stupid and it doesnae matter because either way ye’ve already jumped.

i’m sittin in a café right now and ma coffee’s cold. been cold for twenty minutes. i’ve just been starin at it like it’s gonnae tell me somethin. it hasnae. it’s just cold coffee bein cold coffee. but there’s somethin honest about that, ye know? it’s no pretendin tae be anythin. it’s just sittin there bein exactly what it is.

which is more than i could say for masel for about two years there.

anyway. i’m tomás. i’ve got too many mugs and nae plan and if ye’ve got opinions about either of those things i’m listenin.