Before I get into the subject of this post - my weight is 67.1kg (which I'm pleased about because I was on holiday for a few days, had an awards ceremony involving loads of food and drink, and had a fat cheat meal yesterday) and Barcelona is fucking incredible. If you have never been, go! Go now!
The Masturbator - or office wanker - is a painkiller addict. Remember how I mentioned that when he was at my place, twice he went to his jacket to fetch something and then went to the bathroom straight afterwards. He said it was viagra, obviously - it was not. Not least of which because there was very obviously no boner action happening. On Wednesday at the awards ceremony, he was wasted really early in the evening and muttered something about taking a ton of painkillers before - which I didn't think necessarily odd because he goes to the physio weekly for some or other ailment. But then he always talks about drugs, taking drugs and getting high. He also has no friends or money.
On Thursday morning as I was looking at him, the penny dropped. I mentioned it to the girl that sits next to him at work and she confirmed it - she said he is forever taking pills at work which he claims are "supplements" and she'd seen him take easily half a bubble pack of paracetamol that day.
I don't have a "problem" per se with addicts, but - I can't. I just can't. I have enough demons for the entire world. Helping someone through addiction - I know from experience - is not pleasant. And frankly I just don't like him nearly enough to even want to be his friend through this. (Also conveniently forgetting the part where I said to him on Wednesday, while drunk, that I thought he had a problem with substances and he totally freaked out on me. We would've slept together that night, until I brought that up.)
So there you go, the Masturbator is an addict. I feel for him and his family, but I'm no Jesus Christ.
Also, I'm getting my half sleeve finished tomorrow. Too. Much. Excite. (Follow me on Instagram to see!)
Peace & Love