End of the Month Syndrome

Alright.  Basically the last week and a half has been...crazy.  It's swung wildly from the sublime to the ridiculous without any warning, and is pretty much likely to continue in this fashion for quite a while.  

In short, I have had literally two of the best days ever within almost a week, I've been given a new name, and I'm trying to divert the Apocalypse.  Oh.  And I'm still very worried about my little brother.  And a little bit hurt.

Obviously this summer on the whole has been testing time for me, what with the depression and the unemployment and having to watch every penny and so on and so forth...and now I have to start thinking about going back to Norwich.  I don't really want to go back, and I certainly don't care for going back, but untold danger will ensue if I don't go back when I 'should', as I'll miss the start of choir term (...) and get it in the neck from a certain director and quite possibly lose the will to carry on.  I have bigger fish to fry though, and I doubt there could be any real threats made.  Definitely no promises.  

Last Monday I went to see Streetlight Manifesto live.  That's right.  LIVE.  In Derby.  More to follow.  Today, I went to Skegness with Mother and my Close Company.  SKEGNESS!  It was Awesome.  More to follow similarly.  I've seen my youngest brother off to Windsor for a year to be the Organ Scholar there, and will be making firm plans to see him when I'm settled in halls...and when he's settled in his apartment!  We're all so proud!  He is truly the master of us all.

However.  Life defining live music events and seaside trips aside, I'm coming to the end of my limited tether as far as life at this exact moment is concerned.  I'm beginning to wear out as my Chutzpah begins to wane, and what with a weekend flyover to Norwich for work before my Halls contract starts and having nowhere to stay is taking its toll.  I just hope I don't get a phone call before I get to make the one that might save me.  And to add to this I get the horrible feeling that someone else very close found his "group of friends who..."  Obviously, we're not right for him anymore.  I have let him down.  How though?  I can't make him want to talk, but you know, I can't help but feel hurt.  Just a bit,

Although.  Consider well that his musical life at university is roughly opposite mine.  Back at my old School, they still talk about me, and they remember me as the man who could do everything, and do it well.  A confident and skilled performer, at the top of everyone's list for anything.  Norwich?  I feel little more than a statistic.  Ouch.  

Anyway.  It's not so much time of the month but the end of the month.  And almost the end of the Vac.  It's hardly been a holiday this year sadly.  I've only got one more year and as long as I get back to the grindstone but keep my head above water, I can graduate successfully and actually make positive progress!  I will be making plans to permanently escape Norwich as well.  I do not see myself in Norfolk in 5 years, let's put it that way.

Oh, and I had a haircut as well.  So you know, it could be a lot worse, right?

Wherein I become an Archeologist

You can pretty much take the title at face value; this week I've been rearranging/clearing/sorting my room.  Admittedly I could try harder, liiiiiike instead of doing half the things I've done this past week I could have spent the entire time cleaning up &c &c, but you know me.  I don't like change.

It's been quite the journey of discovery.  Most of the detritus in my room as a whole is arranged in layers, or Strati, coincidentally the name of one of my favourite albums ever.  In fact, the initial move to clean up was based on my losing of two vitally important and imported artifacts, the 2003 Gameboy Advance release of Fire Emblem, imported just after its American debut in early February, and the aforementioned Strati, Stemage's debut solo album of 2006.  With the safe return of these two, progress has ground slowly to a bit of a halt, but upon my own mother's threats will resume with gusto in the morning.  

I like to stack things.  As a recovering Tetris-addict, I love stacking things.  Thing is though, as I stack all my belongings, they (arguably thankfully) don't disappear when lines form.  Instead they teeter menacingly so I begin a new pile and often mix piles together when they inevitably fall.  Right now from my seat I can see a stack of music, shoes, lumberjack shirts and bags.  Y'know, Christmas present bags.  Not to mention the pile of all my old school books under the desk.  Oh yes.  Unless I specifically need or want to, there are no magical "Hey!  Look at this book from year 8!" moments, thanks to my tight organisational scheme.  I'm not getting rid of them, but I don't need them on show either.  There are two stacks, at least 40 books deep each if not more.  I'm still waiting for a long piece to come down.

Rearranging drawers has formed the most part of this operation so far, and a great deal of history has been uncovered in doing so!  As usual, instead of actually throwing anything out, I'm just restacking the existing contents and leaving it at that.  Seeing as I'm keeping everything anyway, there's no point in doing anything else, right?  Right.  Because I'm allowing my belongings to remain in their original states almost, I can track back to when they were originally put away, and recall exactly what was going off when, and gradually recall who and what and all sorts of things that are all connected to the particular order of this or that there pile.  Fascinating.  

Also fascinating but horrific in its own special way, is the amount of dust that everything attracts.  I have swallowed several pints of the stuff just over the last 4 days alone, some unique type of conqueror dust that chokes and blinds and still carries the smell of a former deodourant.  Mmmm.  Delicious.  This ever-increasing dust cloud has been one of the many events that I have used to my advantage in order to slow and ultimately postpone the process of reordering my personal pit.  

There is a bag for refuse though.  Some things just have to be thrown out after all this time, like broken bike lights, pens that no longer work, rubbish...you know, the usual.  Although usually, I just put all these things in another place in my room so I can keep hold of them, just in case.  Upon further assessment, my room is in essence a gigantic version of Michael McIntyre's Man Drawer, (SPOILER ALERT) in which the unlikely hero of the sketch is a man with a slight hoarding compulsion, who is called upon to use his wild and varied items to...er, do something that I have forgotten.  

Other than digging through piles and piles of books, toys and musical instruments, I also quite successfully rearranged the inside of my wardrobe, making it much easier for the unfamiliar (or just the familiar) to navigate.  My suits have been spread rather liberally around the upstairs, as there's no way they'll ever fit now.  Let's dive in to some incredibly boring/earth-shatteringly interesting/beard scratching factoids:

! Alongside my seven waistcoats, six complete suits, two jackets and thirteen pairs of trousers, I own forty shirts, including dress shirts with both full and wing collars, work shirts, ten that belong to dedicated combinations, and both black and white linen shirts.  Not to mention colour-coded lumberjack shirts (three) with their own dedicated combination rules.

" I still have custody of Anna Proctor's red Ukulele.

£ I made a pair of Nunchucks out of wood from IKEA, string and sellotape.  

$ I own eight rulers that are 12" long, and one that is 18"

% I have a drawer dedicated to plain t-shirts

^ I have kept all of my old pairs of glasses.  All 12 pairs.

& I have a bust of Luigi of Nintendo fame, which I asked Nathan to make for me in order to enter a competition, but then decided it was too nice to send off (no returns policy), so I decided to keep it.

* I really do own a copy of Super Metroid. 

()All the clocks in my room show different times.

Wow.  Don't scratch your beard too hard now.

So there we have it.  This operation will continue, at some sort of rate, notwithstanding visitors, pub trips, and days where I can't be arsed.  I own a lot of strange things, and I'm not even talking about my Transformers either.  I can see a Sega Megadrive from where I'm sat, the box proudly proclaiming its 16-bit Hardware architecture.  

And don't forget the Bongos...

The only way is up - Because I say so

As I write this, we have passed into the 15th of August, the 3rd Sunday of the month and importantly the start of a new week.  In 5 month's time, I will turn 21, the last significant milestone before 30.  If you look at the way the numbers stack up there it's all quite nice actually.  Anyway.  I'm in the mood for some resolutions, and hopefully I'll keep them and get round to keeping them quicker than my new years...

Even in light of my recent materialist urges, I'm going keep possessions off the agenda.  Sure, my laptop is bordering on muderously slow, and my mobile keeps switching itself off every now and again (I like to say it's having a nap), but they both still work and they both still do what I want them to do, and that, at the end of the day is what really matters.  I really would like new ones as far as both ports are concerned, not to mention a Bass Guitar of my very own, a Resonator for my Tenor Banjo, more sheet music and so on and so forth, but really I can wait.  Deploy the Trombones though, as I'm going all out for existential goals this time.

BOOM PARP KABOOM.

Interestingly enough, this very Web log was the only New Year's resolution I can remember, probably because I kept it in the end!  By April.

Anyway.  I'm a sad little man with poor self image who suffers from mild to intense depression, who can't get a date or a job.  This changes.

Not instantly either.  The biggest mistake that most people make with their resolutions is to start this new regime instantly.  Cold Turkey, we call it in the business.  It's pointless, it's ineffective, and bluntly doomed to failure.  I am not wired for constant failure, so I'm going to try to put a stop to it...in my own special way, in my own sweet time.  I've got 5 months until I'm 21, it's possible to change all of those things in that time.  Realistically (yes, not defeatist), I can successfully find employment and lift the depression.  How?  I have very little idea, but I will somehow.  Getting up before 11 am for starters might help.  The day is often far spent by the time I heave my carcass out of my chamber, therefore nothing happens.

I must step up and impose order upon chaos.  My order on my chaos, and that's how it will be.  Big words from a little man!  So a wake up plan is in serious order.  If I can tidy up, I can get myself up, I'm on the up.  Ok!  Good stuff.  A great plan so far.

Employment will have to take care of itself at a certain point.  I need to shake my CV into order and submit it to agencies and UEA Student Union.  Once I've handed in, all I can do is wait, and wait I will.  I haven't got long before I go back to Uni, so maybe I can find something?  Times are indeed very very tough, but I might be able to find something if I'm very lucky, and Lord knows there's volunteering to be done.  

NEXT.

My self image and depression problems can only improve once everything else improves really.  Work is its own reward!  Hoo-Ha!

Ok.  Last hurdle.  Fire up the Trombones.  Deep breath.  

Dating.  Like I said last time, I haven't been on any sort of date for what I consider to be a bloody long time.  I am pretty much out of touch with reality on a good day with a following wind, so this could get tricky.  Ergo, I label this one, er, optional.  Aha.  No, really now, I only have a finite supply of chutzpah, so I need to be careful.  But then again, erring solely on the side of caution will get me nowhere!  But then again, it would have saved me a lot of heartache and several friendships along the way.  But all this wailing and "boo-hoo nobody likes me" rather ensures that nobody will.  The fact that I hate going out to clubs &c for a night out, with their sticky floors, over-priced drinks, oppressive atmospheres and questionable clientèle doesn't bode well for me either, as this is where most of this "attracting a mate" process goes on these days (OR SO I AM LED TO BELIEVE), but hey, I'm in halls next year and there'll be flat parties which are basically the same except smaller and the booze is shared and RING OF FIRE happens and so on and so forth.  I might 'get lucky', I might not.  I might even find a lasting relationship.  I'm certainly going to try to be more positive about it anyway, or I shall never get anywhere.  I even bought new clothes this past year specifically so I had something good to wear on a date...suffice to say they haven't been bothered yet.  

Just wish me luck, m'kay?

So I feel positively optimistic about all this.  Hopefully I can remember to be optimistic as the time goes on.  I'm not setting myself a definite timetable for all this (except my room really does need a clean when I get up), but that things are looking up and moving in a good direction by my 21st.  Who knows?  I may even un-cancel my birthday celebrations and once again go out on the lash.  Banter.   Banter 2011?  Wow.  

Dead End or just Miss a Turn?

Surprise surprise, I'm reading several blogs from various authors from over the pond, in fact I've got a couple open simultaneously right not.  Always on my list is Mr. John DeVore found all over the Internet, (who even has his own website now!), [Redacted] Guy, Dater X...etc etc.  Any guest writer that catches my eye with an hilarious title gets a look in as well, there's no discrimination here Smith.  GuySpeak is also a personal favourite, often just for the silly questions people ask, or the questions that I wonder about appear or Michael Swaim posts something else...and while we're touching the subject of comedy let's not forget Gladstone.  Hate by Numbers might be on Asylum these days, but he still writes the occasional column for Cracked, which is brilliant.

Anyway, I digress.

The point is, as your friendly neighbourhood unfeeling subhuman Autistic person, I have extreme difficulty in the area of interpersonal romantic relationships, or dating as it is more commonly known.  So much difficulty in fact, that the last girl I wanted to go out with not only understood my uncomfortably and clumsily worded invitation, but then proceeded to run more than the usual mile (true story bro).  I then gave 'upset' my best shot, didn't sleep, eat &c for a while and beset my poor friends with enough moaning and "woe is me for I am alone" to last them several years.  I haven't spoken to her since and here I am writing about it all again.  Funny really.

Traditionally, I would suppose that Autistic people such as yours truly often don't realise (or maybe they do.  I apologise to anyone I might be insulting) that people pair up, go on dates, sleep together &c &c in such a fashion that the world seems content to proceed with.  For a long time (I have held my peace but now will I speak...no, hang on) I thought that it all just happened, you know, mummy and daddy are married (like mine weren't), and you live in a happy family house (like I didn't)...ok ok, so I observed other people's lives worked like that.  Enough already.  Elder siblings were undisputedly cool, you know, being older and cooler.  If they had girlfriends/boyfriends you didn't question it, they just were.  How this happened was a total mystery, as was what they did and indeed how and when they did it and so on and so forth.  

But like the Freak I am, I started to notice that at a certain age, people started you know...getting together with others.  Because I went to an all-male private Grammar School, I never saw the (male) homosexual side of the coin, as everyone from my school was pretty much expected to find a girlfriend from the all-female High School half a mile up the road.  School Discos were fraught with sexual tension (haha) and Valentines was the most exciting secular festival evar.  Roses were sold and VIth formers literally laughed their faces off at (comparatively) young children acting with that indisputable herd instinct, managing to stay at opposite sides of the hall, stand in smalls groups gossiping and giggling/trying to attract that 'special someone's' attention and of course general dickery.  That particular episode saw me give a rose to a girl who wasn't interested, but in her defence accepted graciously and treated me no different afterwards. (Ok, so every now and again it gets brought up for old time's sake or something, but we can all look back and laugh.  At me.)  

Fast forward.  

My first girlfriend was, and remains to be two years younger than I am.  We met at a choir rehearsal (Romantic!  Like it.) and there was no going back.  I had long hair.  It was almost as long as hers.  Funnily enough, I still have the rubber duck on my shelf.  I really didn't have any idea how to treat her properly though, so we finished before long and I was genuinely cut up about it but she found someone better for her and for all I know they're happy now so...great!  I don't actually begrudge her anything.  Mercy.

That was a long time ago.  Another two years pass, while almost everyone around me learns how to be sociable and polite and not KEEP LOOKING FOR THE NEAREST ESCAPE ROUTE ARGH WHO ARE ALL THESE PEOPLE and importantly with this new age demographic, the heady spectre of Sex starts to cast its coital shadow over the land.  Suffice to say, I find it hard to keep up with people, and most girls who know me view me as a Freak (and oh my god are you 'normal' people allergic to freaks) so I almost give up and once again, chew my poor friends' ears off with the whole "woe is me" routine...until...

Until I met her.  Talk about a split second decision.  One of my friends (with whom contact is now very patchy) was seeing this girl from (wait for it) ANOTHER SCHOOL SOMEWHERE ELSE IN DERBYSHIRE.  This might seem ridiculous to our new-age sensibilities, and our twenty-something eyes, but go back four or five years and think about it properly.  This is absolutely revolutionary.  Nobody knows who these people are.  They're not vetted by anybody else, and they're not pre-judged &c &c.  Anyway, kid's politics aside, my friend he gone bigged me up and got one of his girl's friends all all intrigued and so we end up going to see Borat.  Like, I dunno, four of us and four of them.  So we all go on this first 'group date' or whatever and we hit it off.  A week later, I go to Berlin, one of my totem holiday destinations.  I stay in touch via the power of MySpace but still feel anxious like hell.  I get back, and by some act of God, it's still on.  What happens next is (somehow) 2 (potted) years of learning how to deal with being with another person, making a bucketload of mistakes, being forgiven (most of the time) and you know, general rose tinted spectacle perception of reality.  And the L word.  Yes, that one.  How it ended is not a subject for discussion.  So don't even bother.  Let's just say...it was fatal.  I still regret the ultimate way it played out...and I might have just about finished my penance.  I don't know.  Do we ever truly?  

And now I'm at the end of another terrible year.  A disaster, you might say.  Domestically, Academically, and of course, romantically.  There was...well, something at the start of the year that was hard to class; a relationship of some sort that ended up breaking down because guess what!  I can't cope with interpersonal human contact.  Ha ha.  Great.  Well, it didn't work out because...not everything's meant to work out.  Fine.  

But that was in September of '09.  In a month's time it'll be September '10, and I'll officially gone an entire year without...well, anything at all.  It's been almost two years since I've been on a proper date, and you know, I actually like dating.  If it's done right then the rewards justify the gamble.  And yes, I'm just a twenty-something complaining about one whole year of being out of any sort of game, but this is a dangerous amount of time for a Freak like me.  Unlike the rest of the vast majority of society, I have almost completely forgotten how to deal with this or that situation without LOOKING FOR THE NEAREST ESCAPE ROUTE which usually gets tricky even with people I relatively know.  Perhaps it's time to give up again and wait for something to just roll up...

But it just won't happen like that again.  All the times I've been told to stop looking I remind both my conversational companion and indeed myself that my natural path through my day means that I see the least amount of people possible, preferably none.  It's nothing personal, it's just that I'm uncomfortable around well, almost anyone and I know you might take that the wrong way!  So please, don't  It's not you, it's really all me.  Just let me keep trying and everything will be fine.  And that's just friends!  Like I said earlier, the last girl who got a clue that I wanted to date her officially ran a God forsaken mile.  I really would rather not spend the rest of my days in an eternal bachelorhood either, I rather like having someone else.  I got used to it in that halcyon two year period, ok it wasn't perfect but nothing ever is, right?  I just like having someone there and being there for that someone on a...full time basis.  Yes, I'm always there for my friends, but you know what I mean.  

So looks like the only question left is the one that I used for the title.  Dead end or just miss a turn?  Will I sit this year out completely in order to find myself luckier after?  Or is this really it?  I've already used up all my relationship credits and I'm going to be one man for the rest of my days?  What a terrible melodramatist I am.  But it's a genuine concern.  From where I am it always looks like everyone else has it so easy.  You're all attractive and charming and interesting and have a chance of getting a decent job and making a good career and having a family...all of which I cannot see for myself.  

If it was easy, what would the point be?  If it wasn't so blazingly difficult I might just enjoy how tricky it is.  But alas.  It's the tiniest bit out of reach.  And I'm tired.  We all go through this one way or another.  So maybe I am like the rest of the Losers in the world and don't know it and I'm mouthing off at a problem faced by everyone.  Add to the fact I feel almost completely cut off from everyone I've met at University (the perils of not using Facebook), I'm of a mood to just stay in Derby.  Why bother being unhappy somewhere else when you can be unhappy at home?

Anyway.  After all this typing, I think I shall say...MISS A TURN.  Roll a natural 20 to join again.  As we've seen, I've already had one turn at happiness, so I might as well wait for another.  Friends with benefits and One night stands aren't really my sort of thing.  I know a lot of people can justify both, indeed both at the same time...but it's difficult.  Too grey really.  It never lasts (or does it?), so it's worth the wait.  

But only just.

Mr. Sandman...

Another very personal subject close to my heart. Being published on the Internet. Oh well, it's not like I have a world-beating readership, is it? Haha... Read on, if you like.

Dearest reader, I have chosen to discuss my habit of dreaming. I dream almost every night, and therefore feel as if I have quite a handle on it. Obviously confident enough to tell you about it anyway. My dreaming is linked to the ever-deepening chasm of Synaesthesia that I face, which I will discuss for 40 marks herein. I think it might help explain my crazy ways, but then again it might not as well. Who knows! This could be fun.

Every time's pot luck, inasmuch as I could dream about anything, anyone, anywhere in any way. How exciting. There is no episodic content (so far), and I can't remember having any recurring dreams either, but just because I can't remember doesn't mean they haven't happened. 20 and a half years is a long time, so sue me for not being able to remember everything. A-hem. This said, the content of my dreams are usually on the 'every day' side of perception; I never have special powers, I'm not The Batman, I don't have High Tea with Optimus Prime &c &c (but boy would I like High Tea with Optimus Prime). The people I see in my dreams are the people I see on a regular basis. So I probably dream about you all the time, but not in a creepy way. It's just that you're there when I'm awake and pretending to be a functioning human being, so it's natural that I think about you and that my subconscious puts you there in my head while I sleep (don't get freaked out, I'll keep digging). This because I often dream in complete sensory immersion.

I mean, think about it. It is crazy. I'm closing my eyes and then seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting and feeling just like I do when I'm awake. I'm not aware of the fact that I'm dreaming when I'm dreaming, but come round to it shortly after reawakening into this cold and unforgiving plane of existence we call reality, usually because I start to forget the things that aren't details. Sometimes the situations are unreal though, you know? There's nothing 'wrong', the sky is still cerulean, cars are still on the left hand side of the road and public transport is still rubbish. It's just that I'll see people who don't 'belong', you know? Like I'll go to HQ and say, Julian of Norwich will be behind the bar, or something. Completely believable while I'm snoozing but a little questionable in the light of day. Perhaps it means I miss them? Or some deeper symbolism at work? What is HQ? Why is such and such a person who I met in Norfolk in my local? What does it mean really? I try not to worry too much about it actually, but I certainly see what my horoscope has to say as well. Perhaps the planets and stars have a hand in it, I don't know.

It gets better. These big immersive episodes aren't always on the menu. The usual fare consist of about three of my so-called senses in operation, usually (but not always) sight with its cycling line up of wingmen. This is where the other type of magic happens. More often in third person, I distinctly remember one dream, as an outside observer walking through countryside with one particular Norfolk resident being able to smell...everything. It had recently rained (in my head), and I remember that we were talking, but I can't actually recall any detail. Sometimes all I can 'see' are colours, specifically colours that react to sounds, like music or someone talking to me (in my head) &c &c. I'm not unnerved by this anymore. I mean, far be it for me to lose sleep over it! (Boo)

Funny things crack off while I'm asleep, no doubt. I usually discard most of what happens almost immediately on waking. If I'm traveling, it's usually not important so I don't hold on to it. If I go to a public place that's usually full of people I don't know, saaaaaaaay HQ, I'll put a load of people I don't know in the dream and not pay any attention to them. Just that I'm there and it's always full of unfamiliar locals so my subconscious fills in the gaps for me. Until I dream about going there and it's empty. AND WHAT WILL HAPPEN THEN?!? You get the picture. Mostly there's one person who's important to the story, and whatever happens happens around them. I try to remember as much as I can. In or out of character, there must be something important or my subconscious wouldn't bring them into the focus like that. And so on. I feel their touch, and see the shine in their eyes. If we're firing on all cylinders I'll wake up and wonder if they really own that perfume or I did just make it up. Standard, no?

Enough's enough though. Time to stop boring you with this drivel. Keep tuning in, because there'll be more stuff up soon. I've kind of been taking a holiday from most of the Internet the past few weeks. I was trying to arrange a trip to Norwich, but insufficient funds and a lack of anywhere to stay put the kibosh on that one. I haven't been on my Facebook for ages now, and I shall probably just pop on to post the link for this and then not even stop to check; I can't really be bothered at the moment. I'm operating out of my twitter though, and I'm always on call (haha). I'm on the path to recovery, especially after a very harrowing time of my month (more on that story later), so we'll see how it goes. Who knows where it could lead, eh? (Probable disaster). Time for bed.

Vignette VII

I'm worried about my little brother.

I think he's upset.  Have I upset him?  I'm puzzled.  He had a suggestion, which I urged him to reconsider.  He wants to see them again.  You know, them.  

See, I'm not sure if he grasps what happened.  We were all friends then, but that's because there were couples (see, you know what I'm talking about now), but when all the couples broke up, we didn't speak to each other again.  That's kind of how it goes.  While we might have been kids back then, we sure gave pretending to be adults our best shot at the time.  So it was all very serious, and now we don't talk to each other anymore.

And he wants to see them again.

He said, "I don't have a group of friends who..." and he sort of ground to a halt...so I said, "Who what?"

Have we failed him?  Have we let him down?  Have I let him down?  

I said I was game to go though.  I mean, why should I not be?  Seriously, a part of me would like to see them all again as well, but I am more than conscious of the reasons why we don't, or maybe shouldn't.  I used to be in touch with her for a while after, but that sort of trailed off to what might be considered a natural end.   And you know, I respect that we've all moved on in our own special and distinct ways.

But maybe he hasn't?  Because of one thing or another, he never went through the same mangler that the others did, so of course he won't know.  Maybe I upset him by asking him to reconsider.  I didn't say it was a bad idea, I just said maybe you should think about it.  There are reasons.  You must respect these reasons just as much as you respect the people involved.

I hope he's ok.  I am worried though.  He's still my little brother, and I love him like we all love our little brothers.  I won't let him down.  I won't let any of them down.