Ohhh MBF is in the office today, wearing jeans!! I always wondered what he'd wear if it wasn't a suit! He's still wearing a shirt though (and from my observations, he only seems to own 4!), tucked into the pale-ish blue jeans, with a brown leather belt. It makes him look skinny! Actually, he IS skinny! Skinny but cute!
I spoke too soon! He's now just left the office and is working abroad this week, hence the jeans for travelling. sigh. Oh well, sadly his 1 hour appearance in the office has just made my day! It seems the more you earn here, the less hours you have to work.
I kept thinking about dead people last night though. Someone I cared about died of cancer a couple of weeks after his 22nd birthday several years ago. It snowed that christmas, and I remember thinking that it would be the last time he ever saw snow. Not that he cared, because at that point he'd had his eye sewn closed due to the tumour behind it. I'm not religious in the slightest, but I often wonder if dead people can see and hear everything. I always get the impression that I'm being watched... I've done some horrible things in my life, even though I always promise myself I'll never do anything horrible ever again, and I can't help feeling he's watching me sometimes, laughing at my f*ck-ups.
I think I'm frightened of death. Not my own death, but other people dying. My gran will probably die soon-ish (well, maybe another year or two), but it freaks me out that perhaps all these people are watching me after they die, reading my thoughts and judging me. Strange, but it actually bothers me more about what dead people think of me than living people!
The guy who died of cancer, well I used to wish that it was me who had cancer and died instead of him. He was funny, very intelligent, tall, cute, and one of the most likable people I've ever known. We kissed once. We probably shouldn't have. He couldn't find his brother (possibly passed out drunk in his room with door locked), so we were sat on my bed, backs to the wall, talking about life. He had a hole in the left knee of his jeans, and I was stroking his knee. Tipsy but not drunk. I remember half of me thinking "we shouldn't be doing this", and the other half thinking "this feels right". We decided not to mention it again. He had everything to live for, and didn't deserve to die. I often wonder what he'd be doing now.