Once upon a time, a blog entry almost got me the sack. Fortunately for me, I had enough friends to show me the error of my ways before it became totally public knowledge.
Catharsis is good for the soul.
Sometimes you should be allowed to say what you think or feel, especially if you are passionate about it, regardless of what others might think, or however subversive it might appear. Words have never killed anyone (people do that); and some people need to adopt thicker skins.
I'm drinking too much. I've increased my weekly input from about 10 units a week (five pints) to about 40 units (mucho more pints). I no longer get a hangover after 5 pints; I used to be a complete and utter mess after 4. Since May, or thereabouts, I've been consuming vast amounts of pot (again), this was mainly as a pain and stress reliever. I'm addicted to sex.
Psychologically, I'm corned beef hash. Physically, I'm actually on the verge of being better than I have for years; despite the fact I can't fucking breath very well.
I've actually explored new depths of boredom. I sat and stared at the computer screen on Monday for so long I thought I was going to explode with frustrated boredom. I have inspiration, but my inability for so long to turn that inspiration into words on a screen was down to the constant pain. Now, I can sit and write 3000 words again, in one sitting, and I'm barely getting a twinge from it. But, suddenly, a pain free (or near as damn it, it still hurts but only if I'm stupid or just plain over do it) existence has thrown me into turmoil. I have an urge to be insouciant. I want to make the most of the next few weeks; to do things with the days that I can look back on and say, 'thank fuck I did that otherwise my extended period of sick leave will have been for nought.'
I've become a strange mix of pent-up anger and frustration one day and a totally Zen kind of guy the next. Suddenly issues that would have got me almost apoplectic, have suddenly been overtaken by this slightly unbelievable urge to just accept shit for what it is. So, there's an arsehole in front of you; he's the arsehole, you don't have to be. I actually almost like this new 'shit happens, accept it' me. I notice the deep frown lines I've developed seem to smooth out when I'm in a Zen mood.
I also think I've become more left wing as I've got older, which is a weird juxtaposition because a) I've always been something of commie and b) most of my peers are slowly turning into obscene right wing fascist Tory scum and yet for all the new cars I have, I'm still as frugal as fuck.
I had a discussion with a good friend the other day and it was suggested that I wouldn't like her family because they might be a bit too bourgeoisie for my liking... One half of my family were goldsmiths for fuck's sake. I could have been as middle class as the rest of you, but my family - my dad specifically - was proud of its working class roots and while I hate the idea of working, I do believe that capitalism, consumerism and greed have changed this country so deeply that it will probably never ever understand the true concept of community ever again. I am a new communist; we're guaranteed to fail before we get the chance.
Anyhow, go away.