By: Vague

The piece below is one I had crafted for T.O.B. (as regular readers are aware, and the title states, this is my other blog, the one that I’ve kept for rather a number of years now and, crucially, is anonymous – no-one I know in the ‘real world’ has found it, yet).

I have changed a few of the details so as to cover my tracks; I couldn’t have anyone searching certain phrases and locating my scribbles now, could I? Therefore, certain names have been altered to those I have used here previously, as opposed to those I have used on T.O.B..

I will also add that this piece never made it to the WWW – I started typing it out on my mobile, in order to upload it, but the process was using up too much battery so I stopped. (Plus it was getting quite tedious and my thumb was weary!) So, here you go; we told you Vague Preoccupations wasn’t dead!

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Now, as you know already, I am currently away from the whirl of civilisation, escaping from the city I have called home for nine years; somewhere on the west coast of Scotland.

I’m not going to detail my adventures here; as you also know, this is recorded elsewhere on the chaotic and vast web of the world. (Indeed, I know some of you have already discovered, read and discussed some of the pieces I have set free there.) This is not the place for a discussion of the wildlife I live amongst, or the best fire lay to use, or any of the other plethora of skills, tasks and events I am currently immersed in.

Instead I want to talk about something I know you lot will be far more interested in; principally how I have changed since deciding to actually have an adventure that had nothing to do with anyone else (especially anyone of the opposing sex) and was solely solo.

Of course I have already told a slight untruth here; you have previously read all about La Parisienne and the effect this (and indeed earlier events) have had on me. We’ve dissected whether it would be a good thing to walk (literally) away from this confusion and turmoil I had sunk into. And you know that my decision to leave was also based on the notion that it would give her time and space to help her make the right choice. Whatever that may be. You also know of the events in the few weeks before I left – she has gone ahead with her plans and we are currently incommunicado. Space, time, thought and memory.

Back to the topic in hand. I have changed physically of course. I have hair for the first time in many years. I have a beard that gives me a certain wild mountain-man visage. My hands have developed many new scars (hence the title); from knife, saw or other source, they all criss-cross one another, some fading already, others will stay as reminders for some years yet.

These scars overlay no longer soft office hands. My skin is tough, thicker, calluses from using my axe, saw and knife will soon be joined by others once I start practising with the bow I am crafting. Yet I do keep moisturising, so, tough as it is, my skin is not rough at all.

My face and hands are tanned and the phrase ‘weather-beaten’ may also be appropriate here. My body feels strong; I have lost the fat I deliberately put on, replaced by muscle, in parts highly toned. Indeed, I have developed one or two areas of my body more than I had thought I would; this can only be a good thing. As I was about to get off the train to begin this adventure an old man said to me, ‘what you are doing is banking for the future’. He was right – my body will thank me in years to come, as will my mind for the tremendous experience I am currently investing in.

So, physically I am stronger, tougher, more alert and having shed that greyness that office life can pervade the body with. No longer dull and grey, if I were to say I was a colour it would be the rich, vibrant green of the holly or perhaps that of the lush moss that surrounds me. To conclude, I have no doubts that physically this is an excellent endeavour. Mentally though? That is the meat of this piece and one I will now discuss.

Before I left, one of the last pieces I threw out to you wolves was about how I hoped this period of solitary freedom would help me to process all that has happened thus far in my little life, what I would miss, what I hoped to discover and enjoy.

I do a lot of singing out here, something I used to do when I was young, then this slowly dissipated until I would rarely break into song. I have learned that, although I always knew music was a huge part of my life, it is intrinsic to my mental wellbeing. For some weeks I was quite happy with my own voice but then I started to miss listening to those of others, I missed the chords of a guitar, the tinkling of the ivories, the strains of the strings and many other aspects of musical composition.

This made me slightly sad, but I persevered with singing until I suddenly remembered I still had my headphones from the long train journey north, and around a thousand tracks on my phone.

The song I had missed listening to most was one I have discussed here before, how it speaks to me and simply ‘fits’ my life at present perfectly. So, the first track I listened to, once I was safely ensconced in my hammock and sleeping bag, was ‘Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help your black ass?’ by Amanda F. Palmer.

I have already spent too much time doing things I didn’t want to. This journey is making me realise just how true this has been. The strange thing is, I still don’t regret anything – it has all been a hugely valuable experience; the learning curve at times steeper than I would have liked but it still enabled me to reach new heights of understanding.

I honestly believe it is of unparalleled importance that an individual is happy with who they are; that way they can pass on this happiness, this joy, to all those they interact with. The longer I am out here, the closer I seem to be getting to being truly at ease with myself.

I do miss people, some more than others of course, but what has surprised me is who has been in touch; I thought certain people would send more messages but they haven’t, yet, conversely, I have received several communications from those I didn’t think I’d hear from at all.

In many ways, although I seldom talk to anyone but my sister, I spend a large portion of every day talking. By this I am referring to my journal; not only is it full of observation, diary entries, plans, sketches, maps; it is also full of my written attempts to process all I have experienced, and also to formulate a few rules for my life, a codex, if you will, to live by. Taking these rules it is becoming possible to map out a future of opportunity, variability and experience.

One of the principal things I have recorded in my journal has been my relationships with women; from the days of Daisy, through the ex-wife, The Muse and of course La Parisienne. These subjects are nothing new to regular readers; many of you are all too familiar with the intimate and often explicit posts that have appeared here previously. You have often passed comment, advice and sometimes even judgement on these matters, many of you who discovered the other blog found it amusing how I tried to record events and thoughts there, knowing that people I know in the ‘real’ world were also reading it. You watched as I posted pieces about The Muse there and here, then many of you nodded and tutted ‘I told you so’, as I went back to non-discussion of my personal relationships on the other blog, transferring all talk and details of La Parisienne back here.

So, what do the pages of my journal record on this subject? I have attempted, this time alone, to dissect what was good, what was bad and what each relationship truly meant to me. Again; I regret nothing. Everything that has occurred has led me to this point for a reason.

I don’t miss Daisy. That is done, a chapter finished, yet one that shaped me as a young man.

I hope the ex-wife is happy; for so long I felt guilty I was not who she wanted me to be, yet, in paradox, I knew I had to become truly myself.

I wish The Muse well, she came into my life at just the right point, I had missed passion and she threw it at me  by the barrelful. I will forever be grateful for what she brought to me, I hope she knows that.

La Parisienne has proved hardest to dissect, come to terms with. Perhaps this is due to hope, perhaps due to it being so recent and, unlike The Muse who has shut the door firmly, the door to the world of La Parisienne remains slightly ajar. I now have my rules though and I will follow these. She knows she needs to be brave, but bravery is in short supply these days. Who knows what the future holds?

I have also discussed others too, things and events that had I acted differently may have shaped me more than they have done. This process has been difficult, interesting and vastly important. In fact, as the lovely Red would say, “rate important” (note for American, and indeed non-northern-English others, for rate, read right).

I think the most important lesson I am learning is that, even if it is difficult and indeed possibly controversial and confusing to others, I simply MUST follow my path. Whether this means I will walk alone is yet to be determined. As so many of you, voyeurs that you are, have suggested, perhaps I should go back to using women as playthings, shut off from emotional attachment and concentrate on the physical, rather than the mental, side of things. I am as yet undecided as to this aspect of my road ahead; at present it matters not, but in a couple of months I will be once more around others and need to tread carefully.

So, lots of talk of paths, roads, journeys. But isn’t this what life is all about, our own rambling way at times flanked by others at times doubling back, meandering. One thing I have realised is how bad I have been at keeping in touch with people and I hope to alter this as soon as I can, writing good, old fashioned letters, more emails and other lines of communication. I’ll never be a fan of the telephone though!

Re-reading the preceding words, I realise I have said much, yet told little. Perhaps this is due to this still being an ongoing process, perhaps to a slight withdrawal. Who knows? No doubt, once I am back in civilisation with a broadband connection once more, I will return to lengthy and detailed discussion, as I have done so many times before. I do think knowing I won’t be able to respond to your comments as I usually do has also altered what I have recorded here.

I will sign off now and begin the process of typing this into my mobile phone. I hope you are well and one thing I haven’t mentioned, but look forward to immensely, is catching up with all your own news in your blogs. For I too am a voyeur.

*

There you go. One more piece for Vague Preoccupations. I have edited out parts of the above (mainly intimate/explicit parts, such as a discussion of my final night in Sheffield), but on the whole it is more or less what would have been sent to T.O.B.. Strangely, I find I am missing this, the freedom to be brutally honest, talk about subjects that are still rather taboo amongst those I ‘really’ know and also the interaction that, although at times has been hurtful, has always been useful. I think at present I am using my journal as this sounding board, reading back through it, tailoring those rules, rejigging my possible futures.

And what does the future hold? I can tell you this for certain – it will be exciting, at times frightening, at others difficult. But I will be me, and that is what matters most – honesty to self and others.

By: Vague

This will be my last blog on here for a while – possibly forever, but who knows what lies around the corner?  Never say never.

Recently I have commented on how strange keeping a blog on here has been, read by Real Life People (that’s probably you) who really know Me (or at least as much as I share); not just know my words.  I have struggled with self-censorship issues for some time now and in the last few months it has become harder and harder to know what to say, what to hold back, what to explicitly commit to your eyes and what to hint at.

For the last ten years I have turned to my weblogs (no one calls them that any more…) and my ever present journals and notebooks in order to work through what occurs in my life, digest, assimilate and try and make some sort of vague sense of this life I live.  This is something I urgently feel the need to do now, craft pieces filled with truth, filled with emotion, that ask questions I need to seek answers to.  I also need others to take on these issues and report back with their own conclusions, offerings and thoughts.  Yet I have realised this is not the right forum for this any longer, if it ever was.  I need to question my direction, question what mistakes I have made to reach this point, question where I go, ask who am I?  Questions questions questions.  Answers?

It is an odd thing – I made this decision last week, after some serious thought and told no one about it until Sunday; since then three of the bloggers I follow have decided to either shut their doors completely, or hang up the keyboard for an undecided amount of time.  Perhaps there’s something in the water, or in the air?

I am sure that my choice to freeze a steady input of new pieces here will not be unwelcome to some, I know for a fact certain people will be glad to see the end of it.  The irony is, TOB and TOOB are far more implicit and explicit about my life, far truer depictions of what I really think.  On here I have pulled punches, taken care not to offend, not to hurt.  I have even censored myself to such a point I have not even mentioned certain thoughts, certain events.  This isn’t what I want to keep a blog for – I feel this has diluted what I write on here, become more of a chore than a pleasure and no longer something to look forward to.  I have turned more and more back to my anonymity on the other blogs and my journal.  I have started carrying my moleskine again, noting down many and varied observations about the world around me, overheard snippets of conversation, character sketches, lines that leap into my head unbidden.  Sadly though, I feel that Vague Preoccupations has ceased to be of use to my development as a writer (at least at present), and that has to be what any work is about – surely?  I have certainly done far more creative writing of late, poetry and prose vying for time with my journal and observational pieces.

I have also realised I have stepped back from talking about certain subjects to friends; my incessant questioning and doubts are probably exceedingly irritating.  Instead I will try and move forward talking about nothing of serious consequence, at least for a time.  I have found it difficult to see into the future, my eyes have felt grainy, tired and full of sand.  I actually mentioned this to a friend a couple of weeks ago and she replied with an excellent quote, ‘Don’t worry, the sand will turn to glass and you will be able to see again’.  She is right; I need to stop peering ahead so much, stop second-guessing what is around the corner, simply be.  All clears with time.  Or so I hope.

I hope that some of you have enjoyed sharing in this experiment, like I said at the beginning, I may return at a later date, or the format may be altered, or it may be I do not ever add to what has been again.  I’m not going to try and think too much about it.  I hope you understand my reasons for calling it a day, going dark.  They are simple enough in some ways, yet also extremely complex.  Thanks for reading, until next time.

By: Vague

This promises to be something slightly different to pieces of late.  I had originally intended to put up the first part of a trilogy I have crafted, touching on subjects I have avoided.  Then I was fairly sure there would be no blog piece from your author this week.  Now, however, I’ll give you this.

In this life we are born, we live, we die.  These are the constants; they are the same as all life on earth, what holds us all together, everything else is inconsistent, open to chance, roads crossing roads, meeting paths and ways separating.  In our lives we are often faced with a fork, two directions so dissimilar that we pause, panic, try to retrace our steps.  I have felt time stand still when lips touch me and I have seen it flow faster and faster, disappearing before my eyes, hours passing within moments.  The one thing I have never witnessed is time going backwards – despite our species unique ability to wish we could go back in time to alter an event, avoid fate, we simply cannot do this.

So, when we are faced with this fork we have two choices.  The right choice and the one that should be left.  We cannot turn on life’s journey and head backwards, as much as this would be so much easier.  We can pause at this juncture, wait for guidance, fate, karma, realisation, illumination, inspiration, belief.  Sometimes the best course of action is to take no action for a time.  Wait, sit, calm your thoughts, avoid outside interference, seek advice from those you trust.  Wander off the path for a while, explore for yourself the area you have found yourself in and, while doing so, take a long hard look at the events that have led you here, who you are, all the while looking back up the path at the choice you know you must make.

And sometimes a choice is no choice, you have already chosen, you just haven’t yet cleared your mind enough to accept it.

We surround ourselves with friends and family, we are influenced greatly by what we are told, advice is given freely, often whether we seek it or not.  The key to listening to advice is to digest it slowly, weigh it against what you already thought, try and peer into the grey of the future; ponder whether the route is easier with the advice, certainly, but also try and look beyond the journey to the destination.  The harder route, where you may not heed all you are told, may yield a far greater prize.  Never simply settle for second best.  Always strive to achieve everything you have ever dreamt of.  Have belief.

(There is a famous passage, somehow appropriate, in American Gods, which I think you should read now.  There’s even a picture of Mr G. wearing a t-shirt with this quote.  I have always viewed jade differently since I first read this, and I guess you might too.  Makes sense).

I have spent some time on my bed this week thinking about what I believe.  I realised two things from this stress and migraine wracked time.  Firstly, that what I believe has recently changed fundamentally and, secondly, that I have begun to believe in certain things I have always held at arms’ length.  Not quite not-believed-in, but never embraced.  Some things have always belonged in my stories, in my poetry, in the darkest recesses of my mind, never before freed from these shackles until lately.  Somehow they have now slipped past my defences and arrived, fully formed, in my life.  And life is fleeting; yet I now understand that these things seem to outlast our temporal existence.

I have never known such a period of turbulence, where my emotions have been so raw, so near the surface and so powerful, shifting like trees in a storm, waves on the sea, patterns in the clouds.  I have spent my life running, both from events in my past and towards the promise of a brighter tomorrow.  I have spent many years making do, never seeking what I was looking for; for fear it may not exist.  I have spent time alone.  I have spent time in company.  I have spent time alone in company.  I have spent hours questioning, answering, asking everyone and no one.

I have often tried to avoid addressing the worst.  Facing my fears.  Standing toe to toe with a dark future.  Yet I have always ended up doing just that, perhaps it is the darkness within me, the writer who seeks to understand what we simply cannot comprehend, perhaps it is simply my nature to coldly look at the worst possible outcome and think about what I would do in such a scenario.  These last few days I have done just that, and it has taken me to places I do not enjoy.

And yet, I still believe.  I still believe that perhaps because something feels right it actually is right.  And I have to carry on believing, trying not to over think, not to intensely analyse, as I am always in danger of doing.  I have learnt from my mistakes.  And many are my mistakes.  It was only last year that I began to tell my true story to one or two people.  I have always concealed fact, used shadow to obscure certain paragraphs of my life, deliberately soaked a page in ink to hide the words.  And then for some reason I spilled out my full tale when I least expected to, telling of the darkness, the things I have done that I have hidden.

Standing at this crossroads I know the direction I would like to take, yet there is still that little man within me, building his walls against the world, trying to protect me.  All the while he is shouting, ‘This is you – nothing ever works out.  Run away, turn inward, avoid.’
I am fighting him for the first time in many years, perhaps it is because I am older and somewhat wiser, or perhaps it is because I finally have something worth fighting for; a future that at once terrifies and thrills me, much as the present fills me with both confusion and certainty.  Yet the direction I take is no longer my choice.  Perhaps this is what has thrown me.

I have questioned who I am, and I have not been alone in this.  Asking, searching the self for answers that are at once tantalisingly close yet also far away, is so very difficult that at times it is easier to cease asking, take comfort in the familiar, the safe, and lose your sense of wonder, of romance, of self.  Sometimes something feels so unreal as to make us doubt whether it exists, it is so different to all we have known.  Perhaps this is actually reality.  Perhaps the easier well-travelled route should be exchanged for the harder more dangerous path.  The rewards will be great, yet the road difficult.

I now know all these things, for I still believe.

By: Vague

It’s that time of the year again where I come back to life, tree-like or bee-wise.  Perhaps I am as a bear awakening from hibernation.  The point is, I love this time of year and it loves me.  I become energised once more, as the days get longer and the sun decides to hang around, casting its warmth and light on my winter-weary head.  This year my life feels brighter than normal, I’ve now hit my 33rd birthday and 34th year and I keep sneaking glimpses towards the future and it shines back in my face.

The first thing I have decided I need to do, lest I drown under the surface of so many upcoming plans and projects, is to organise my life, plan plan plan.  I have revisited the excellent www.diyplanner.com and am toying with different systems.  As an aid to this I have procured a new Moleskine (any excuse), in bright red this time.  I also made the error of looking through all the others in the range and came away with an address book too and some sticky bookmark things (and, err, Adventures in the Dream Trade by Neil Gaiman).  I simply shouldn’t be allowed in Waterstones or Smiths.  A banning order may be a good idea.  In the past week I have somehow ended up buying three more books from Waterstones and another six from Amazon.  This is on top of the five I received for my birthday.  I justified this expense by utilising the money my Granny sent me and supplementing it with my own and the belief all the books are crucial to my development and future plans.

Over lunch last week, shared (delightfully as ever) with La Parisienne, she made an excellent point (one the Editor, Beans, Double G and others have all also mentioned at various points); I should not keep putting my plans back.  This was in response to my mentioning that, by my birthday in 2011 I wanted to be out of this country.  When, in reality, I have enough time to sort things out to leave this year.  And why not this year?  I can try and convince myself this won’t be enough time to get enough money saved, or it is too soon (especially if I am moving abroad, as opposed to travelling), but the truth is that is simply bollocks.  When The Housemate and I originally decided to head off around the world we would have had less than six months of saving, this timescale is more than adequate, especially since I’ve already saved a little.

I have been refusing to look too closely at my future of late, for reasons I will explain in a later piece, but this comment set me thinking about the realms of possibility that lurk unseen around the corner.  I know what I hope to happen but my old lack of self-confidence has raised its head once more and made me feel incapable to share my hopes with you, at this juncture at least.  I will say though that the plan to be out of this country by the end of this year at the latest still holds true, and I am also exceptionally hopeful it will be some time prior to this.  There are clues dotted around this site, in previous blog entries for example and also in my 21 things list I finally subjected to the cold hard glow of the ‘net yesterday.

One thing that has come out of recent weeks and recent events is this realisation I may portray a harder, confident exterior at times but in reality I am still the painfully shy child I used to be, filled with doubt over my own self-worth and fearful of doing something wrong, hurting others.  This is an issue I have become accustomed to dealing with throughout my adult life, yet it has only been due to the recent extraordinarily powerful events that I have noticed how much it can still affect me.  It seems to rear its head when I feel I have something to lose that I cannot envisage losing.  In this case, this is obviously La Parisienne.  I will wait to document this, the most passionate, loving, meaningful and simply ‘right’ relationship I’ve ever experienced, at a later date, for fear of somehow jinxing things (which I seriously doubt will happen, but this is me after all…).  You’ll just have to wait.  Or find TOB or TOOB or read my journals of course.

By: Vague

I feel I have rather a lot to say today, but as I start this piece I wonder how much I will actually share (this is both a matter of time and also privacy) – let’s see how things progress though.

Scotland.  Strangely I gained nearly six pounds in weight while I was up there, good weight too, not just flab!  In a perverse fashion I am glad the weather was far from its best, with a few days of rain, showers and high winds – the weather when I am outdoors never bothers me in the slightest.  There is an apt (possibly paraphrased) Ray Mears quote that sums this up succinctly ‘When it rains, you get wet, but when the sun comes out you dry off’.  This is how I feel – as long as you are prepared and sensible in the wilderness, there is little that can hurt you.  Layers of wool, then the ventile smock and a rubberised (this word always reminds me of some strange fetish porn…) poncho keep the worst of the weather off, heating oneself from the inside out with warm drinks and hot food also help.  If the weather gets that horrendous I could always sit on the bench in my clothes, within my sleeping bag, in my bivi bag…

The reason I was pleased that the weather wasn’t perfect is that Dr EW got a far more realistic view of the experience than if it had been beautiful sunshine the whole time.  He also wasn’t too keen on the profusion of ticks there seemed to be this year – more than I remember any previous year with the majority being freshly hatched nymphs rather than the bigger beasts.  My theory as to why this is the case (after a long, cold and snowy winter remember) is that they had only just started hatching when we arrived.  Their predators had yet had time to pick them off and winnow their numbers.  Dr EW ended up with a few nibbling him, whereas I obviously taste a lot worse as I escaped a single eager mouth.

I did slip slightly whilst descending the mountain at one point though… thankfully, however, my camera survived unscathed.  In general I was hugely impressed with my levels of fitness, it really didn’t take too long for the old mountain goat legs to kick in once more and I revelled in the fact I could take deep cleansing breaths without the urge or need for a cigarette (or that slight tightness either).  It has been nearly five weeks since I last smoked and I can honestly say I am hugely impressed with myself and my efforts (which aren’t even an effort any more).  I can’t wait to get outdoors again soon either – I think I may try and make it as regular as I possibly can, I am learning I need to be outside, under the sun, rather than breathing air-con-air (sorry for the pun) and sitting under unnatural light.  My days of civil Service office-dom are numbered, this much I am now sure of.  As to where to go from here?  This is an ongoing question.

I am aware that I am running out of time this evening to get this piece finished and onward to the Editor.  I think I may have to continue on a separate, non-blog day.  I will, however, very briefly mention the fact that, upon my return from Scotland, I had the most fantastic weekend with La Parisienne.  She came over on Saturday and we left for Stratford-upon-Avon on Sunday morning.  I will endeavour to write more about this as soon as possible, as I am struggling to put what it meant to me into words (rather unlike me…).  Needless to say, the time flew by as it always seems to when we are together and, before I knew it, we were back here.  Spending time with her is such a pleasure; it is very difficult when I don’t see her now, and becoming increasingly hard.  Having said that, I only need to think of her and I start smiling to myself like some demented clown, strange shivers running through me.  It works on so many levels, she is engaging in conversation, has a wide reaching knowledge and experience base, makes me laugh and smile more than I can remember and then there is the physical side, where she does things to me that I am likely to only share on TOB.  And then there are the kisses.  In fact, I think I will leave this here before I get too carried away with what I write but I will return to this subject as soon as I can find the time.

By: Vague

Well, I fear this will be a too-short blog.  I am rapidly running out of time to get things ready before I head to the mountains tomorrow morning (very early tomorrow morning too); I still have to pack my bergan, buy some last bits of food (and the essential whisky), send a couple of messages, polish my boots and patch a hole in my trousers (having already sewn one up, I then noticed another, grr).  Dr EW will be arriving at around 2000hrs this eve, leaving little time for the above.

Of course, dear reader, this is the end of an era (of sorts).  My last bi-weekly scheduled blog, and the last one on a Friday.  From here on in, I think the plan is for Wednesday to be the new day of deliverance, extra unscheduled blogs, rants and general ponderings appearing in a haphazard fashion.  As I explained the other week, the reasoning behind this is that I simply do not have the time to juggle this blog twice a week, TOB, my writing, my journal keeping and my social life (busy little bee that I am). I also want to concentrate on some learning, time to start on my 21 things list (yes, yes – I know you have yet to see it, but it should be with you shortly).  And then there’s the time I will need for my exercise regime… (Still no smoking, despite a moderately stressful week, oh yes, hallelujah, I’m cured etc).  So, change is afoot.  Good change.  On many levels.  I will return to Plans at a later date – certain variables need working out and discussing, but Plans they will be.

Unfortunately I will have to leave this here, lest I run out of time to pack something essential (whisky, for example).  Hopefully I will return from my week in the wilds and have plenty of adventures to recount – I was seriously pondering booking to head to Paris a week this Saturday for a couple of nights, but sadly the bank holiday/closeness in time/ash cloud fiasco has made the cost somewhat prohibitive.  Another time, another time soon though.

By: Vague

Well.  A busy and highly entertaining weekend to recount.  I will start where I left off – at work on Thursday, feeling rough from the migraines I had earlier in the week.  I decided that enough was enough when it came to lunch and called it a day, snoozing in the afternoon to try and recover.  Friday morning I indulged myself in a lie in until seven o’clock – such extravagance!  I had a doctor’s appointment to attend before work, where I intended to be persistent and stubborn with regard to the increasing frequency and intensity of the migraines I have been suffering from, not leaving until I was satisfied the doctor had listened.

To my surprise and pleasure I saw a different doctor from those I had seen previously.  He was younger than the others and I couldn’t help wondering if he was being thorough due to his age, the time in the morning or the fact we had an even younger and rather attractive medical student sat in with us.  He asked probing, pertinent questions – as opposed to the previous three doctors who’s response to my questions was “they’re just migraines, there’s nothing you can do”.  His diagnosis was that an underlying issue has been making them worse – namely stress and depression.  In itself, not particularly great news, nor earth shatteringly new (see previous blogs), but it did reassure me slightly.  Since I have now stopped smoking (7 days, 19 hours and 14 minutes at the time of writing), am due to alter my diet considerably in the next couple of weeks and increase my exercise regime he acknowledged that these changes could well go some way to addressing the stress/depression issue.  Again, not especially brand spanking new ideas, but at least he was thinking along the same lines as me.  So, we left it with him asking to see me again in a month to see how things are then and, if I have had any more migraines then he will put me on preventative rather than reactionary medicine.  So, to surmise, I didn’t really learn anything new, but it has reassured me that someone is actually listening.  As for the stress/depression, I may return to this topic below.

During the day at work my head, which hadn’t been too bad first thing in the morning, grew progressively more and more painful.  By lunchtime I was feeling rather rough, but was determined to complete at least one full day at work that week.  I was sat with Beans in the Winter Gardens at lunch when I had the rather delightful surprise of seeing La Parisienne.  Of course this immediately cheered me up, especially as she said she herself was feeling better than she had earlier in the day and was determined to make it out in the evening to Bean’s party.  I went back to work, still in pain, but with a smile on my face.  When it reached about half past four and my head was still painful I decided to throw caution to the wind and double my dose of codeine in the hope it would take the edge off the increasing discomfort.

Immediately after work I went out to Platillos with Commander B for some cheeky cocktails and a chat.  By all intents and purposes I may as well have washed the codeine down with long island ice teas.  It worked well though, although I did feel somewhat fluffy, to say the least.  Perhaps even floaty.  Beats migraine pain though.  We had a good chat and it was a great way to start the weekend.  I decided I will set myself a target of an increase in weight of two stone by the end of the summer and we would keep measuring and weighing ourselves on a weekly basis, as she has decided to lose some weight.  Then it was time to get home for a rapid turnaround before heading to Beans’.
La Parisienne and I had arranged to meet outside the Cathedral.  Those of you who know me in real life are probably aware of my annoying habit of wanting to be early for appointments and meetings wherever humanly possible, so I was getting increasingly agitated that we would be late to meet said lady.  The Housemate, Timity and The Boy Named Sue were randomly met en route by The Old Housemate, which was good, as I haven’t seen him for a while and a catch-up was long overdue.  We tried to flag down a taxi but none passed us until it reached the point where it would actually have been quicker to walk, so walk we did.  Fortunately La Parisienne text me to say she too was running a wee bit late and we arrived at the rendezvous at exactly the same time.  Wine was then procured and it was on to the party at Ginger Towers.

Sadly Beans wasn’t feeling too well at all, which is rubbish at the best of times, but when you are throwing a soiree possibly even worse.  I tried to be chaste and talk to other people, at least until The Editor arrived then I decided that she could act as my emissary and La Parisienne and I could play at being teenagers, first on the balcony, then the sofa.  To be fair, it was probably a good thing that Beans was feeling rough and had to keep retiring to her quarters, lest we commandeered her room for some further fun.  The few hours slipped past at a remarkable rate and then it was time to leave.  Some of us were going onwards to Climax but sadly La Parisienne had to go home to work on her essay, due in tomorrow.  Thankfully though we have arranged to meet again this week before I depart for the (still rather snowy and cold apparently) wilderness at an ungodly hour on Saturday.  Spending some time with her has lifted my dark mood substantially and I can’t wait to see her again.

So, after saying our goodbyes in the taxi to La Parisienne, The Editor and I went to meet some of the others at the Union.  For some reason I thought the best way forward was to drink double rum and coke and precede each drink with sambuca.  Of course this was also on top of the wine and cocktails.  Needless to say several hours of crazy dancing ensued and by the end of the night there was only myself and a friend of Timity’s who I’d only met once before.  I’m not quite sure how I got home, recall nothing of the conversation I allegedly had with The Editor (who had gone a while before) and have no idea where the graze on my shoulder or the bruise on my leg came from.  When I woke up on Saturday morning I was still drunk and found it amusing that I had, for some strange reason, hung up the shirt I had been wearing, despite it being covered in other people’s drinks, sweat and smelling of club… Odd drunken decision, that one…

The Editor and I went out for a leisurely lunch where I tried to force some wine down to ensure I avoided a late hangover.  I couldn’t manage that much of my lunch but it was really pleasurable to have a good talk while sat out in the lovely weather.  I managed to avoid being too badly sunburnt too.  After a spot of shopping and then cocktails we went back to mine where I had a disco nap, before once more heading out for yet more drinks.  By this point I had decided it was clear the best thing for my migraines is to stay drunk.

We arrived at The Lescar early enough to avoid the massive rush there was later, although it was still very busy.  There was a fundraiser for Peace in the Park (the imaginatively titled Peace in the Pub), with several bands playing, including the band James (fellow SW contributor) plays in.  It was a nice surprise to see the Muse there too, although she hadn’t come to see the bands and I had little time to talk.  Still, she looked well, which is good.  The Housemate, Timity, The Old Housemate and another friend (who I have mentioned on here before but can’t remember if I have given them a name yet…) came along later too, with The Old Housemate and said possibly nameless friend staying for the bands.  All in all I ended up topping up my continued drunkenness before we left before we turned into pumpkins at midnight, although I think the night carried on for some time after we left.

Another joyous event was waking up on Sunday morning totally headache and hangover free.  Somehow I had escaped any retribution for my prodigious drinking session.  After seeing off The Editor I had a fairly lazy Sunday, doing a spot of writing but mainly just dozing and getting some things ready for Scotland.  I still have to procure food and fishing kit for the adventure, but this won’t take too long.  I can’t wait to be up there and I am even looking forward to coming back too – as well as meeting up with La Parisienne this week I am intending to spend rather a lot more time with her in the week after I come back, hoping she isn’t working the Bank Holiday too.

So, to conclude and summarise this long winded diatribe, your Author had the best weekend he’s indulged in for some time.  Happy thoughts all around (despite one or two issues that have raised their head, I’m still smiling).  Ain’t life grand?

By: Vague

I fear this will be a very short piece for this week; I am speed writing this in my break at work, my first day back since last Friday.  After an excellent and busy weekend, where I met up with a number of very good old friends, I ended the weekend on a decided low with another migraine on Sunday night.  This was followed with another migraine on Tuesday, meaning I have had three days off, again.  To say this frequency and severity is unprecedented is an understatement, and it worries me.  It has meant I haven’t been able to do any writing, blogs or otherwise, I have now got to have another meeting where it is likely I will be issued a written warning, all this adds to the stress and then causes more migraines.  Vicious circle.  I am definitely rather stressed at present anyway.

I was talking to the Editor the other day and we discussed how all the things that are stressing me are things I can do nothing about, they are all out of my hands.  So, what is the answer?  I know that this upcoming wilderness excursion will do me a lot of good.  It is an odd thing that I would rather be on the side of a mountain, sleeping in a hammock, dealing with ticks, midges, injuries, constant rain (or even snow), wind, storms, finding water to drink (not usually that much of a problem in Scotland…) and living out of a pack than I would be sat in a warm air conditioned office.  I feel so relaxed out there and I am seriously considering looking for a new job which involves as little seated office work as possible, but then I wonder if it is worth simply toughing out this contract, saving myself the time and effort it takes to look and apply for a new job, then leave the country?  Of course these thoughts all create more stress.  I will say though that, when I am done with this job (one way or the other), I am unlikely to return to this sort of environment.  It simply hurts my poor brain too much.

I think I may reread The Cost of Letters (brilliant read, if you haven’t heard of it) in order to peruse the suggested alternative occupations.  I’m thinking lighthouse keeper, or perhaps Official Grounds’ Hermit…  The one surety in this is the fact I would rather take a lower wage and not have to force myself to sit at my PC after work to write, eyes aching, head sore.  Besides, it’s only a matter of time before I decide it’s time to seek my fortune.  One final point, interestingly, is this – when I have been off work on holiday, and spend twelve or more hours at my own PC, I never get a migraine.  Nor do I get them when I am outdoors.  So, there’s one common denominator in the occurrence of migraines…

By: Vague

It is odd how few people ask questions these days.  As life becomes easier (certainly in the so called developed nations), perhaps there is less tendency to wonder.  Streetlamps block out our view of the stars, obscuring the magnificence of a clear night.  I question how many people I know have actually really seen the night sky in all its glory.  The clearest I remember seeing it was when I was in the mountains in Spain, miles from any source of light pollution.  It is a truly amazing sight, no moon, no cloud and billions upon billions of stars, so many years away, some probably already burnt out.  It inspires, something that is lacking in today’s money driven society.  Personally, I would rather have darkened streets and more stars, but this isn’t going to happen.  It is impossible not to wonder when faced with a sky ablaze with these tiny pinpricks of light, suns around which other planets revolve, wondering if we are alone or if some alien life form is also gazing at their own night sky, questioning if anyone lives around our own star.  I am hoping that we have clear weather when we journey to Knoydart in a couple of weeks.

I worry about what effect this lack of questioning is having on our species.  It is what sets us apart from the other creatures we share this planet with, this ability to question and seek answers.  It is difficult for me to ask myself where I am going in this journey, but when I start to include humanity as a whole I run the danger of slipping downwards into depression.  The problem, at least as far as I see it, is that there is such disparity between different nations, and even within this country I was born into.  The easy route is laid out clearly for the masses; water on tap, fast and fattening food everywhere, easy availability of cheap clothing, no curbs on waste, money easily available through either work or benefits.

With all this, what is there to strive for, what is there to inspire?  TV?  You know my thoughts on this already, even those programmes I love have been dumbed down for the masses since I was a child.  Literature?  Prohibitive book prices and lack of library funding puts these things out of the reach of many.  The same with education, we are dangerously close to only teaching the rich, more and more people are telling me they won’t ever go to University because it’s too expensive and they hate the idea of vast amounts of debt at the start of their careers.  And there’s that word – career.  So many people are unsure ‘what they want to be when they grow up.’  It is easy to switch directions completely, have several careers over the course of a lifetime.  Even in my short working life I have done an array of differing jobs; factory work, warehousing, dustman, working with mortgages and then in a contact centre for a building society before I entered the Civil Service.  And yet my career, as I see it, has yet to earn me any money.  Why is this?

As a writer I write.  This is a subject I have discussed before and no doubt will return to.  I haven’t made any money from it as I haven’t even thought about doing so yet.  I don’t need the money at present and I would rather put my time into crafting pieces rather than sending off submissions to publishers.  Money is not what drives me to write, if it were I’d have whored myself out as a journalist.  Instead, the desire to ask questions, to dream, to wonder, that pushes me forward.  So many people seem lost, directionless, putting off risk and never taking chances as they perhaps should.  It is so easy to slip into this cycle we perpetuate, money dripping through fingers, spent on so many things that aren’t truly necessary or even real.

I often ask myself whether it would be an interesting experiment to see what would happen if people were put in a situation where everything they need to survive has to be worked for; water to source, collect, clean and carry, food to find and prepare, shelter to make, fire to light etc.  Would they then return to ‘civilisation’ with a higher level of understanding of just how lucky they are?  Would it affect them in the way it affects me, reminding me of what truly matters and enabling a higher level of appreciation of the natural world?  Or would they simply view the experiment as a waste of time, something that will never make any difference to their lives, there’s always the tap for water, radiator for heat…

It is difficult to impress upon people just how recently things have changed; in the course of human history all the technological advances we are so used to have happened in a mere blink of an eye.  It is so easy to forget this, to think that it has always been this way.  Recently a friend commented on the fact that we as a species are collectively held responsible for “destroying the world”; in some ways I agree, we have certainly altered this planet beyond anything it has known before, but to say we are destroying it is perhaps incorrect.  All we destroy is our ability to survive here and, if we carry on and our species has had its day, then the world will heal itself, new species will evolve, the circle will continue, without us.

On this rather miserable note, I think I’ll leave this piece.  I had originally added several more paragraphs about humanity and hope, but somehow what was meant to be a positive conclusion made the tone even darker.

By: Vague

I have done next to nothing this weekend.  Apart from some writing I have spent most of the time reading and watching films and programmes I have downloaded.  In some ways this annoys me, but I think I needed to have a rest, with recent weeks being busy and the coming weekends already booked up as far as May.  I have felt the need for large amounts of sleep, perhaps because I seem to be getting some incredibly vivid dreams and indeed nightmares since I started taking these tablets.

I have yet to finish my 21 things list as intended, I am determined to make every number on that list count, no filler, but all things I truly want to do.

I have yet to tick off more than one other item from my epic ‘to do’ list; this was to restock the First Aid Kit (FAK), which has now been firmly struck off; I realised that I must have spent well over £100 restocking my FAK over the last few years, as I slowly use the contents or they go out of date.  When I go to the wilderness it is the one weight I carry that I don’t begrudge, and hope never to use.  It helps to realise the multipurpose nature of many items in there too – cotton wool balls smeared in Vaseline are fantastic fire starters for example.

Other than that, nothing.

And yet I say nothing.  I have been thinking about exactly where the time has gone this weekend, what I have spent each day doing, surely I haven’t watched four days worth of films?  The answer of course is no, I haven’t.  The majority of this weekend has been spent doing what many seem to misconceive as idleness; I’ve sat, sometimes with a book I am failing to read, sometimes with pen and paper in hand, sometimes just swinging in the hammock, thinking.  Thinking is something that doesn’t seem to receive the same respect as other undertakings.  John Lister Kaye, in his masterpiece The Song of the Rolling Earth, discusses using fishing as a cover for thinking:

‘If someone comes along and asks “What are you doing?” and I were to say, “Thinking,” I know I wouldn’t get any peace.  But around here fishermen command respect.’

The same is true if someone were to phone, how many people do you know who would say they’d call back later if you told them you were thinking?  So I can sit in front of the computer, short story or poem open but idle, while my mind uses this cover to protect my own perceived idle thoughts.  I would love to say the same could be said for reading, yet I have noticed a tendency for people to come up to someone reading and start discussing the book, or ask what they are reading as a metaphor for ‘you are reading.  Please stop this and talk to me instead.’

Oscar Wilde said:

‘The condition of perfection is idleness; the aim of perfection is youth.’

And, just thrown in as it is on a similar vein and amuses me:

‘There is something tragic about the enormous number of young men in England at the present moment who start life with perfect profiles, and end by adopting some useful profession.’

Idleness is perceived as a bad thing by today’s society, yet it is as important to our development as other states of being.  Idleness allows thought to develop, from thought come ideas, from ideas action.  Even the act of thinking has been altered recently to fit with the perception of idleness as a bad thing; brainstorming is used in the worlds of business and academia in order to squeeze as many quick ideas into as short a spell as possible.  I won’t argue or deny that it is a useful tool, a technique I make use of myself, but it doesn’t replace true ‘idle’ thought.

Dreams (a topic I feel may recur here soon) are our subconscious processing information we have received, it is equally important that we try to process the bigger questions with time, patience and a steady approach.  And process these questions I have.  At length.

So, next time you feel guilty to be sat around, pondering, musing and postulating then suddenly realise half an hour has passed and you have ‘done nothing’, remind yourself that, without this ability to process, to think, what would we be?  Would the greatest minds in our history have come across their discoveries, written their works, created their art without the time to think?  I would suggest not.  In the spirit of this piece I will finish with another quote, this time from the Chinese philosopher, Lin Yutang:

‘Culture, as I understand it, is essentially a product of leisure.  The art of culture is therefore the art of loafing.’