Wednesday, 6 July 2011
A letter from Hell
I know I have to do it for financial reasons, be in Hull for the next year or so, but it doesn't make it any easier. The longer I'm here, the smaller the city feels and the grimier and more foreign the accent grows. I have a job and I should be grateful. In spats I am, but most of the time I am too exhausted from the amount of time I spend there on my feet sell, sell, selling for pretty much minimum wage to even speak to anyone else, let alone go to the gym or have a social life. It's only been a few days, but I have a doomed feeling about my future here in Hull. I am losing the ability to remain positive about living in a house that regularly sleeps six others. I miss my own space so much that I itch for a cigarette, a habit I quit doing on a daily basis over 18 months ago, whenever I allow myself to remember that it has well and truly gone. Being allowed the opportunity to live here so cheaply is a very generous of my Mum and it is good to be nearer family, but I miss my own life. I barely feel alive.