I'm not in a good place at the moment, so therefore I'm extremely negative. Most of the things I want to write about I can't or if I try I look back on what I've written and wince at my lack of discipline, the mistakes, the fact it doesn't make sense. I've always written like I've talked, which begs the questions - do I really talk that badly? I've been itching to write something for the last three weeks, but it isn't happening. Ideas are withering before I can even get them down and that's a good word to describe my mental state too. Even that is odd, the spirit is willing, but, like I said the ideas don't even fruit, they're gone before the blossom is out.
You could argue that I'm doing my fair share of writing, purely based on the amount of blogs that I've published; but a lot of that has been rubbish because that's what I do best, that and I am a creature of habit.
Almost a year ago, there was a period where, even by my standards, I'd hit a bottom that was getting on for being as low as I'd been ever. I was struggling with some elements in my life, trying to keep my fears and worries away from the wife and wrestling with turning 50. I even managed to keep a lot of it away from my closest friends and over 10 months later I look back at it and can't believe that I was that low and yet I must have bounced out of it, because I'm still here; I didn't slit my wrists (and to reassure anyone who might start panicking, I didn't at any point consider it, it's just looking back on it I sounded like I'd throw myself off a bridge even if something good happened).
Writing for catharsis has always been my main reason for writing since I stopped writing and earning money from it (and I do believe I'm much better now than I was when I worked for Skinn, so there's some irony hidden away in there to be mined - I mean considering that I'm currently thinking how crap I am, you have to question his judgement in an era when I looked as Neanderthal as I probably wrote) and during those few black days around Easter 2012, I sat down and tried to get everything off my chest. It's written in an email, because I was not where I currently am when I started to write it and I use the email composition tool in Yahoo to do a lot of things.
I kept thinking that some of it needs to be used. That's a habit I picked up from Skinn as well - try not to waste anything and it's only been in the last few years where I can delete things wholesale without worrying that I'll have an aneurysm worrying about things that I will never even look at let alone might provide me with a future best seller. The wife, like my dad, is a nail collector - nails, screw, saws, hammers, clamps, brackets, if it has a DIY purpose then it has a potential future. It's that collector mentality you see among comics collectors who don't want to get rid of that 1970 Millie the Model comic, in shit condition, because even if it isn't worth much, you never know... It might be useful for something.
I have so much shit saved onto various discs that if I should die tomorrow it would probably take the wife several years to go through every single disc to see if there's anything saved that's worth keeping and she probably would struggle - photos, maybe, but most of them are one one disc...
So, I was about to cut and paste the entire thing into this and then decided that, no, perhaps its just a little too much me-bearing-my-soul-to-the-world in a way I'm not at all comfortable with. Yes, I suffer from bouts of depression, but I'm not bi-polar, and currently me and those lyrics from the Simon and Garfunkle song are tangoing around in my head; having a kind of existential slam-down. Who can say who will win? But what I do know is there's a lot of things that are best left unsaid, for ever.
The thing is I've had a really good (and at times decidedly surreal) day and yet it's also been shit. I'm really seeing visible physical improvements since packing up smoking that should have given me a buzz; I applied for THREE jobs inside an hour this morning, got reasonable news from trenches and I'm still slightly euphoric from Spurs beating Arsenal at the weekend (and are now 3rd, again). This whole week there's been some good sex, good beer, good company, good film (watch Robot & Frank), a really good birthday for t'wife, the money hasn't completely run out so I've not resorted to eating gravel and dirt and summer was here for an hour yesterday...
But, all the same, I'm still in a funk.
I had an idea for a kids' book while I was walking the dogs. I might have a go at working that up. I might even do it. When I say 'do it' I don't mean 'do it' I mean 'work it up', so that's not writing, per se, but it's something other than sitting front of the monitor and writing a blog when I feel I have something to wibble on about.
Christ, I've downloaded enough shit films in the last few weeks to keep an army of nerds and geeks happy for 24 hours, but I just haven't got the motivation to watch any of them.
Hey, moaning is much easier than being happy... or positive... We are all going to die...