Overdue

It's been a while.  All cobwebs are figurative, because this is the internet and they don't have that sort of thing here.  In spite of the lack of any new content, page views are ticking over though, and I won't be surprised if this post facilitates the 11,000th view, an amazing number of unexpected magnitude - although this is barely over the three years mark, that "Blog Every Day in May" thing certainly helped, with May itself having some 2000 visits alone.  Had I not have put myself through such a grueling schedule, perhaps I would still be looking forward to the big ten thou?  Having no formal training in style, and often showing dreadful inconsistencies of tone, I can't help but wonder just what is so compelling about all this.  I moan, wail and hammer on about how miserable things are, perhaps impart secrets of hopeless devotion, the lack of definition or direction.  There are even posts about that time I was dreadfully ill and lost almost half a stone overnight, I suppose there must be something about the time I had the Swine Flu...?  I can't imagine it happened before I started writing surely not?  Oh I can't find anything, not even circumstantial evidence from that time I went to a Green Party social in the Eton Cottage (pictures are on my laptop, not on the internet) and looked the then-leader of the Green Party for Norwich straight in the eye, after firmly shaking his hand, and answered the question "So what's your interest in the Green Party?" with 'None at all; I do not believe in centralised government.', which really put the wind up him.  In all honesty, my interest in the Green Party was completely invested in the girl I was seeing at the time, a young lady I now regard with very mixed emotions: some pride and a little envy, possibly even a hint of regret and perhaps something I'm not quite equipped linguistically or emotionally to express, as I am met by wave upon wave repeating of her wedding photos from her recent ceremony.  It's certainly odd, but not ill-meant by any degree.

Every now and again I wonder what the future holds for my blog; in fact, not just that but also writing and my creativity in general.  I publish it and disseminate links in public for a reason: so people can read it.  That's sort of the point, and I'd hate to labour it any further.  One...issue(problem?) I've come up against is in referring to other people, or in fact things being read into.  I usually keep other names down to a minimum, and have fallen out of the habit of conferring pseudonyms.  I've touched on this before, the great and thorny topic of authorial intent, previously unrecognised, is now at a forefront of my mind as I type.  This road leads to witless paranoia however, which is where I have languished for at least a week now.  What use is it trying to run a blog if I'm worried that things will get taken the wrong way and make trouble of it?  Jesus H. Christ, there always have been and always will be those who take issue or even straight up stand in opposition to the way I do, say, think, sing, write, dress... The list goes on.  To live constantly worried is no life at all!  How desperate have things become?  It's probably why, after a month of pre-packed titles, I turned to things like Khaaaaaaaaaaaaaan and why I like stories without happy endings: safe to middling territory that can't be dissected.  Oh well.  Damned if I do and damned if I don't.

!?!

The past two weeks have been flecked with madness, loneliness and some small notes of triumph!  It never really stops being stressed in my head really, as I do live at a certain level of nerves.  Call it whatever you will, but I'd hate to be any other way.  Similarly, I detest being massaged.  Interpersonal contact issues notwithstanding, the act of having my shoulders rubbed is actually rather painful; it appears that I am composed entirely of knotted muscle, and actually I can get on just fine like that thanks.  Who are these people who must be perpetually relaxed?  I am not one of them.  Anyway, I was talking about being alone.  The house is all but empty, with the occasional visit of one of my fellows and his newly Facebook-official girlfriend.  Other than that... Well, one of the Lay-Vicars and his wife came round the week previous, but my visiting schedule is still wide open, YOU WILL ALL BE PLEASED TO HEAR SO COME ROUND.  It isn't awful living alone... The house is quiet (something I sorely missed before), I can stay up til whatever hour I like in the living room, usually doing some sort of cleaning or similar, bombarding the house with various albums ranging from the time I listened to Major four times in a row to the recent rediscovery of a Handel box set.  Not having a set of surround speakers downstairs means I play less from my phone, but that's a small sacrifice.  Last night I dragged the Freezer back in after several days defrosting outside sat over a drain.  Most of the time, blasting out Baroque concertos is an effort to replace the booming bass and raised voices spilling over the back wall from what I can only describe as one of the finest and most popular venues in the whole of Truro.  It could be worse.  Most Friday and Saturday nights I am actually out drinking, usually there, myself.

I must now turn my focus from the Scholary to my future lodging.  I am genuinely sad to be leaving the Scholary, the first house except for my mother's that I have lived in for more than 2 years in the last 5.  It's funny really, but I like the old place, creaky and moldy as it is, in severe need of damp coursing, new carpets, a wiring overhaul, new white goods, fresh wallpaper, new sash windows... I think you get what I'm saying.  Not to do the place a disservice, but it just needs a bit more care.  I am sad to be leaving it, make no mistake.  This place has been more than some sort of doss-hole student house to me, it has been my home, a site of dread triumph and fantastic unprecedented failure.  Those of you who are card-carrying members of my "Fan Club" will be pleased to hear that I have secured a place to live for next academic year, and at a price that is remarkably affordable for the South West, particularly in Truro.  A stones' heave from the Cathedral (rather than the Scholary's comparative lob) from the Shed, I already feel confident that things will be okay, and the extra few hundreds of yards distance will help me establish myself as a Lay-Vicar rather than be tied in to the Scholars.  Already, plans to move from Truro are in an embryonic state, but let's just say I'm thinking big.  Fed up to past the back teeth with living a boring life of no event, it's high time I did something about it and cast away.  I'm much more capable now than I ever was when I was 18, but as always, money is the big problem and it's a problem that will never go away really, as we all need to find funds from somewhere.  As much as I know that we are not our jobs or our bank balances, society is sadly geared the other way around!

As for employment?  To be frank, I haven't bothered lately.  I've had enough with trying to budget my way out of a dead end and finding somewhere to live to take on the extra stress of finding a new job.  I have, however, been working at the Cathedral Office again, which will keep me in enough money to pay my phone bill in August while I'm gallivanting around Sweden with the rest of the choir, hemorrhaging SEK like there's no tomorrow.  All I ever hear about Sweden is how expensive it  is, which is less than inspirational.  What is happening before that tour, though should prove pretty inspirational in itself is the return of a great dream team, Toon and Get!  If there was anything that I could ask for to return my spirits to their position once on-high, it is this pair of terrible oafs, ready to hit Truro once again!  Last year's Banter Tour took us through the lanes at some 60 miles an hour in a Fiat 500; the words "death defying" have never been so well applied.  All the money that I have earned will inevitably be spent with abandon and in all honesty, without regret.  It'll be a time to cherish, not to be ridiculous about it, but we three bad men will ride again.

Let's not even talk about dating, shall we.  I know it's usually the last (or really the first) of the big three, but can we just leave it for now?  Thanks.  I suspect that it'll all come out in the wash in the next few weeks, so for those of you who watch very closely just be patient because the Tell-All account is on the way.

&!&

It's good to write again.  I've been venting most of the madness through Twitter and Facebook.  Regular followers will obviously have noticed, I'm not exactly embarrassed by it, and those of you who take my pathetic cries for attention too seriously are advised to calm the fuck down, basically.  Often, there are plenty of people who are probably welcome to hear from me, which I am reminded of regularly enough - but of course, my lack of communication and poor confidence often shuts me down.  It's only three weeks until the tour, and I might see about taking my computer so at least I'll have a word processor available.  Lord knows I need to get one of those international plug things for my phone anyway.  A few more good weeks of good behaviour, and then we're off!  And after that, it all begins again.  Christ.