À la recherche du temps perdu

As I do every week, I've been to see my friendly counsellor - and I'm quite enjoying it, truth be told. It's not often that you get the chance to unburden in a guilt free environment, examine your navel and ponder on who exactly you are. By way of back story, I was in a very dark place a few months ago, and it was suggested that I go for some counselling. The waiting list was such that I had to wait a while, and as luck would have it, my first appointment came through just after I'd had a rush of blood to the head and walked out of my job (see previous posts). So I went, hesitant and guarded at first, to see what it was all about. I go every week, I sit down, I talk, I answer questions, and I come away feeling better somehow. To be honest, I've resisted the urge to dissect the process, to examine and understand what is going on and why, as I thought that it would be counterproductive. Instead I sit back and enjoy the ride. And bugger me - it seems to be working. I know that it might just be that I was on the upward curve anyway, and that the counselling was nothing to do with the upswing in mood, but hey, I'll give it the benefit of the doubt.

Depression colours everything in your life, and nothing is free from the critical voices in your head - work, family, self worth, but most of all it seems to take the flavour out of memories - intellectually I could recognize that there was a time when I was happy, when I was full of the cocky arrogance that comes with self belief, but I couldn't remember what it was like, what it tasted of. This from someone that had to look up the word supercilious when it was put on a school report aged 10......

Well, I'm tasting life again. Gods know why, as on the surface life is as worrisome and complicated as ever, but my ego tells me that I can handle it, that all will be well, and if the shit does hit the fan, it won't be my fault. Life is good. Until it isn't - obviously.

I'm in the middle by the way. Scarborough punks c1979

AS TON ISH ED

I wouldn't say that I'm particularly wise, but as to being astonished - yes. Astonished that I've actually enjoyed 2 days work for the first time in years. Astonished that my boys are growing up so fast. Astonished that I can be so lucky yet feel so sad. Astonished that people can't see through me. Astonished that I can be loved. Astonished that time is stretchy. Astonished that I still have the capacity to love. Astonished that I still have the chance. Astonished that I haven't blown it. Astonished by giraffes. Astonished by the audacity of some people. Astonished by talent. Astonished by the fact that we are all different. Astonished by rainbows. Astonished by myself. Astonished by those who love me. Astonished by the worlds in peoples heads. Astonished by the amount of wine I drink. Astonished that I seem to be getting older. Astonished by the fact that something is finally going right. Astonished by the fact that I haven't realised it'll all turn to dust.

Employed, exploded, upbraided and beautiful shabby arses.

Where were we? Ah yes. The saga continues.... since the last installment, I have been busy. Properly busy. Meetings here, there and every fucking where. Busy is good - no time to think, no time to ponder, no time to mope - just keep on keeping on. So what, I hear no-one ask, is the upshot of all this frenzied activity? (small break in the stream of consciousness here as I go into a small rant about whatever the fuck Skype has started doing to my computer - now the antivirus doesn't recognise or allow it, and I have to press OK to permit it every couple of minutes - major pain in the arse)

Hmm...What has happened? Well, I'm employed - 2 days a week! Enough money to keep chez nous ticking over, and enough time left to chase other projects. Result. Should be fun - nice people (fuck skype) and not a million miles away.

RIP then my old Jeep... or nearly. Headgasket blew on the M1 last week resulting in a repair bill which equates to the total value of the car... big thanks however to Lighthouse Jeep Spares - £37 for a head gasket set as opposed to £211 from Chrysler.(Fuck skype).

Plans are underway for the Great Voyage. Having come into the possession of a narrowboat on the Avon, the task of moving it up to Yorkshire is upon me - or rather upon someone else..14 days of (fuck skype) sailing (I think that the correct term is cruising, but somehow it doesn't sound quite right) and 144 locks. The journey may be split own into sections (or not - who knows) so there may be some mobile bloggage to come. I'd love to do the journey myself - it takes in some of the most scenic and beeeoootiful parts of the canal network, as well as a lot of industrial grit and grime. In towns and cities the canals are a window into our industrial past, and the sights you see are often hidden from people who live minutes away - high streets may get corporate rebranding, but the canals show the shabby arse of towns that often hasn't been touched in a hundred years - like the clogged up arteries of an old lady with too many facelifts, but beautiful in it's own way.

But in more general terms, life is looking up. Jam tomorrow now has a date and a paycheck waiting, spring is sprung, people have lost the winter glums, and there is room for optimism.

Upbraided? Ah - yes, was chastised for lazy bloggage last night, so here I make amends. Is that alright for you?

Well, I woke up this morning....

..and this was what I saw.

6.40am Bidford on Avon

"Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair"

Time for a lazy post, just cut and pasted from an email that I sent yesterday...




I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains: round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Percy Bysshe Shelley


Does that inscription sound like someone who is comfortable with themselves? I would say not. Money and power is not the answer to living within your own skin (which is a comfort to me). So what is left? To be happy as a dreamer of dreams, a teller of tales, a maker of music, a painter of pictures, a player in the game of life, someone who added to the joy of humanity. I’m beginning to think that realising this is knowing yourself. How could anyone be miserable if they truly believed that they have added to the joy of humanity? I’m smiling as I write this. I can only guess what sort of world we would live in if people believed it was so and valued it…. A world where Bill Gates would look up to Bill Bailey, and Madonna would aspire to be Stephen Fry.

It’s a currency that I’m happy to say, many of my friends are rich in. Now, who could want more?

PS Can you tell I’m in good mood today? (Which is strange – up to my ears in hassle, no jobs yet etc.etc. But the sun is out and the spring is sprung