The jacket that I got yesterday has been ripped on a door handle. I suppose I should just accept that I’m better off without it: it was clearly flimsy. But I loved it.
I loved the way it made me feel. When I had it on, I felt loved.
I loved the way other men looked at me, full of envy.
I can’t say I’m coping with it too well. I feel like I could break down at any moment.
My sister made a joke about it. I couldn’t believe it. She knows I’m going through a hard time at the moment and the last thing I need is her laughing at me because of my jacket.
I’m so tempted to return to the Clotheshow, where I bought it, but I must restrain myself. If I go there I’ll end up going inside and I can’t do that.
At least no one else has got a new jacket recently. I’d hate to be the only one who hasn’t got a new jacket.
I just thought I’d tell you about how crap I feel. I’m going to go in the shower now and whittle a statue of Abraham Lincoln.
Tomorrow I think I will get a replacement jacket I think. I know one that looks nice, I think it has an owner though. Maybe I can have it for a night… he won’t know.
