Between two lungs

So, catching up...the birthday weekend went fine with only one minor anxiety attack. Some old companions came over, I sent communication out to all my new friends…to get back just the one response. From none other than That Boy I Fancy. Saying he was working. Ironically, the first time he’s responded to anything I’ve send him…ever. So, minor kick in the balls that I couldn’t join the dots between Old Times and New Times…but still had much jollity. Terrible photos, but everyone has seen me at my worst now, so “de-tag” has lost all meaning.

Yesterday it was two years since I moved to Leeds. I absent mindedly referred to life before then as a bit rubbish, which riled a few Lincoln folk. But I kind of stand by it. My life has more structure and purpose now than it ever did. And learning just to get along is the best lesson I ever done learnt.

I never really appreciated how tough it was going to be, moving to a new city without the support of University and the student lifestyle. Especially when the two people you move here with disappear in a matter of months, pulling away in opposite directions (although ironically ending up in exactly the same place). This second year has been much more enjoyable, because I’ve been forced to go out on my own, which never fails to terrify me but always brings the sweetest results.

The two best friends I made have now moved on, along with TBIF. It never happened with him in the end, and in hindsight it’s for the best. His relentless optimism would have clashed with my sporadic spirals of despair. It’s still slightly gutting, as he’s the first guy I’ve “met” in well over a year, and the drought shows no sign of ending, but like most things it’s just a case of carrying on. Their absence is going to be felt, but more folk are sticking around than I had first thought. The fact that I’m still struggling with the recovery from a party at the weekend (Bouncy Castle!!!) shows that all will not be lost.

Work is fine. Had a few out-of-the-office adventures, including another training day (proving again that if something can go wrong, it will, but it’s far better to make a joke and move on than to run and lock yourself in the disabled toilet).

Not moving house this summer for the first time in six years was a strange sensation. The house is falling apart (the fridge is the latest to fall. Not had any milk in the house for well over a week now. I just want a cup of tea or a bowl of cereal…is that too much to ask? Is it??) but it’ll do for now. Housemate makes vague allusions to moving on. That can be ignored for the time being. The next chapter begins, and I can’t help but feel very content with how things are going.

Soft Shock

Feel like I should write something, rather than actually wanting to.

Over the last couple of weeks, during serious lulls at work, I’ve been reading back through the archive. It feels like I’m reading the diary of someone I half knew, but have completely lost touch with.

In a way I guess it’s a shame I don’t write here more often, because I used to be quite good at this (modesty aside, yeah?). But in other ways, it was clear that I *needed* to write, because I had few people to talk to, or just needed the reassurance of seeing something in writing. Not any more. Quite content just to live my life. It’s not the most exciting of existences, but I’m getting along alright. Something that I clearly wasn’t achieving even a couple of years ago.

But anyway, these work lulls have been rare. Things are stepping up a gear. And I’m coping, mostly.

On Monday, I turn 24. This was a bit of a worry, Quarter-Life Crisis and all that. But I’ve come to terms with it now. Feels like a good solid age to be. Got a long weekend ahead of me, most likely to be filled with gin, dancing and donner meat. Some things will never change...

And when summer comes, we'll go to Paris or Rome

So I’ve actually had some classic times lately. After whining about never going out, I then went through a patch of nothing but going out. There was the evening of cheesecake and margaritas, followed by a day in York drinking myself senseless whilst everyone else enjoyed the sights. There was the night on the tiles followed by some spontaneous carpentry. Then there was the wedding.

It was that killer – the first wedding of people your own age. A bit younger than me actually, but the day went by with a professional air. It was admirable. I doubt most of my friends could arrange a punch-up in a kebab house. But I can safely say I’ve never seen two people look more happy. Got all emotional I did.

It was never something that appealed before, but I think I want to get married now.

That big day was sandwiched in between two more days of excess, so something had to give. That something was my immune system. I’d been in dire need of some time off work, but this wasn’t what I had in mind.

I had some friends up this weekend. Nearly called it off as I wasn’t 100%...but I thought, no, pull it out of the bad, they’ll be worth it. And it was fine...for a while. Until it became obviously that one of them had become utterly intolerable. He’d always been a bit arrogant, but playful with it. Now he was just being a prick. It was Barcelona all over again. Maybe it’s me that has changed. I’m losing patience with most people I used to consider friends. I guess the more bridges I burn, the less likely I am to be disappointed.

And I get back to work after a week off and I completely forget what I do for a living. Thankfully a large jar of biscuits has appeared on my desk.

Reflections are protection

I am the lord of all procrastination.

I sit here with a big project to finish. I've been given yet another warning regarding my behaviour towards it and in general. That makes three now in as many months. The first was leaving work early (took them a good 15 months to pull me up on this), the second was being on Facebook all day (ditto, was taking the piss somewhat) and now comes Being Hungover And General Very Arsey With Everyone.

My bad. Weekend before last, two old friends came up. HTIPMILW being one of them. I was all ready to fall out with the cunt, but dammit he was too charming, and it was just such a joy to dance again. Then there were the pills, in which initial joy has now been replaced by slight terror. My chest occasionally pangs. My heart has sporadic bursts of, well, bursting. I think I might have damaged myself, but I hope there's some magical potion that will cure this. When I get around to going to the doctors.

So it was a messy weekend. But one that came with a seven day recovery attached. Getting old. And quite frankly I haven't got the time for this. There's a shitload of work on that won't be avoided on its own. I just get a bit distracted when Supervisor isn't here. He needs me to be on the ball. I am rarely on the ball. In fact I think the ball is locked in the shed, and the lock has rusted through.

We still haven't got a new house sorted for July onwards. Housemate makes it an awkward subject to raise, so I don't raise it. I don't like how he's holding all the cards right now. He has no right, but I haven't got the energy for an argument. I'm just so tired, all the time.

This weekend, I experience my first Stag. The groom younger than me. More terror. Should be a laugh, as long as there isn't too much stripping involved. There are five or six other things happening on the same night that I'm having to pass on, including the leaving-the-country do of a friend I see once yearly as it is, if I'm lucky. Frustrating that there's this massive social calendar explosion, when nothing seems to happen for weeks at a time.

Watchmen Verdict: Ace. Not as good as the comic, but that would have been impossible to do. A valiant effort, nicely violent, and they didn't skirt around Dr Manhattan's penis. Which is refreshing.

And Take Your Money

Beth has got me thinking about nights out, especially with the perfect summary - “that it's not what you drink but who you drink it with”.

Last weekend I had an impromptu trip back to The Old Country because of few worrying texts from Former Housemate. I told myself I wasn’t going to go there again for a while…it’s not what it used to be. Venues have shut, folk have moved on, or even worse, moved back. And ever since he returned from his travels, HTIPMILW has become an insufferable prick.

Former Housemate seemed calmer by the time I got there…but there’s not much I can do but quote things at her until she smiles again. Seemed to do the job anyway. She’s in a difficult situation, the first real love of her life has come along, but it’s surrounded by a situation that’s slowly crippling her. I don’t want to see it end badly, so I try not to see it at all.

Then I shuffled myself off to a party and drank a ridiculous amount of cider and gin, dressed in, amongst other things, a neon scarf and a pink tutu. There is a three hour chunk I’m still missing, which no amount of hideous Facebook tagging to return to me. The last thing I remember is getting an arrogant text from HTIPMILW, going a bit mental, having my phone taken away from me and a sympathetic lesbian calming me down.

The next morning brought pain, the shakes, and an ill-advised look back at the messages that I had sent out. Drunk Joe is an angry, angry young man. Thankfully everyone is used to this. Still, there goes my moral high ground.

Add together the cost of travel, kebabs and gin, then that pretty much equalled what I would have blown on a night out here, where 50 or 60 pounds can go without really trying.

Nights out are pretty rare these days, which can only be good if that’s the price tag they come with. But when they do happen they more than make up for their absence. The folk here and so much more easy going, back in The Old Country it’s all drama and sex. If that exists here (and let’s be honest, where does it not?) then it’s much more bearable.

“The same old crowd” just aren’t very appealing any more. Nostalgia is one thing. Living in and for the past is another.

I’m really finding it an effort to blog here these days. Everything seems forced, or I ramble for a bit and it goes nowhere. My work with Pretty Famous Music Website has dried up too. Not feeling very inspired right now, just consumed with a desire to get on with things. Looking back at some of my recent shit moods, this is an improvement.

My family tree is losing all its leaves

My Grandfather died today. He was rapidly deteriorating over the last few months. Before Christmas both him and my Stepdads father were in hospital, which made for a fun mood...

So it was a case of waiting for it to happen. And it's here, and I feel nothing. I've not seen him for years. He was an embarassment. He wasn't a good man. Sent my grandmother to an early grave. And his funeral will bring all all the corners of my family that i hope i never turn into.

I got the call from Mum this afternoon. Told my boss, and he said "so you'll need to go home this weekend?"...and I should. But it never even crossed my mind. Because all I can think of is the travel and the shower of shite emotions and how I really can't be bothered.

Certainly puts into perspective my previous concern of no fucker responding to any attempt at communication I made.

Apologies for the spelling, I've been drinking.

I'm the new blue blood, I’m the great white hope

One of the benefits of writing here so infrequently is I now forget what caused the black mood of previous posts. Hindsight and that.

I ended the year just as I started it, dancing like a twat with a new group of friends. I seem to spend NYE with a different gang every year...hopefully displaying my ability to make new acquaintances rather than my inability to keep them. They’ve provided much joy over the last few months, but this summer they’re all leaving this city. A shame, but I don’t begrudge them the chance to go spread their wings. As for the one I’ve fallen for...it's looking unlikely. But I’m used to things not going how I hoped they would. That isn’t meant to sound negative, just one of those things.

These were my top 5s of 2008:

Albums
Late Of The Pier – Fantasy Black Channel
Cut Copy – In Ghost Colours
Ladyhawke – Ladyhawke
Friendly Fires – Friendly Fires
Metronomy – Nights Out

“Tracks” (RIP Singles, yeah?)
Little Boots – Stuck On Repeat
Fake Blood – Mars
Hot Chip – Ready For The Floor
Keane – Spiralling
Lykke Li – Dance Dance Dance

Gigs
Radiohead – Barcelona Parc del Forum
Rage Against The Machine – Leeds Festival
Justice – Leeds Festival
Neon Neon – Leeds Brudenell
Lykke Li – Leeds Hi-Fi

Doctor Who Episodes
The Stolen Earth/Journey’s End
Turn Left
Midnight
Planet Of The Ood
Silence In The Library/Forest Of The Dead

I only made one resolution, and that was to be happy, and not rely on other people so much for that happiness. So last weekend, what did I go and do? Sulk, because I spent it all on my own, with other folk being uncontactable. Good start. But it’s early days.

It’s hard enough getting someone to like you, then you find out that they’re nothing like you, and it’s been a waste of time.

Tuesday morning, I leave the house to find a woman desperately clinging to my garden wall.

“Haha how drunk are you?” I scoffed, before slipping on some black ice and falling flat on my arse.

Or, more specifically, my wrist. Completing the walk to work now feels like I deserve a medal from the Burley & Kirkstall Winter Olympiad, but I’d probably fail the drugs test.

Where were we? Had “The Talk” with Housemate. Didn’t go well. I cried, he cried, I retracted everything and submitted myself to a potentially awkward housing situation. Once again I am a fucking doormat, putting other people’s wants and needs before my own. Living on my own gets more and more appealing. Also had my windows fixed, so it’s not all bad news.

Saw my new crush again at the weekend. The lack of contact has been nothing personal, just the way he is. Fallen for him a bit. But then, just when I thought I was over All That, HTIPMILW calls me from Thailand. By accident, of course, but seeing his face on my phone fucking threw me. Confirming my theory that I am just unable to get over anyone.

It’s good to be proved right?

A Heartbeat, a flicker, a line

Winter still creeps through my window. I am woken up every morning, without fail, at 6:23am. The piercing cold taunting me like so many broken promises from my landlord. My breath makes for foggy conditions. I am slowly going insane through sleep deprivation.

I’ve also just been given a bit of a raise, which is a bit nice. Although the temptation to blow it all on Jon Pertwee-era Who is too much. Treated myself to the Sontarans boxset instead.

Housemate wants his ex to live with us next year. I’m trying to find a nice way of saying “what???” but, as yet, nothing.

Red Socks Pugie

Autumnal slump. Not helped by the simple fact that it’s Monday morning and yesterday’s time travel didn’t do me any favours. But then there’s three other things. For the past month I’ve had a broken bedroom window. The smallest gap in the world that still manages let in the harsh Northern winter that I’m still not accustomed to. We don’t have seasons in the South. Christmas Day last year was 13 degrees. Uncomfortably mild. Anyway my landlord is dragging his feet over the repair work and I just want my room back. I’ve gone through five years of student letting bullshit, despite not even being one for two of them. When will this end??

The next is entirely superficial. Ordered a game off eBay and three weeks later it’s still not here. Once again, losing patience.

Then comes the third. A young man I’ve being trying to get the attention of and utterly failing. I’ve been told I have to be patient with this one. But I’m having to be just that with absolutely everything right now. There’s only so much I can conjure up.

Add to that a load of nightmares based around my housemate’s Zombies In Space game (now in glorious HD!!!) and you have me, clawing away at my keyboard, praying the next five hours will just fuck off so I can go back to bed. Except I can’t, because my bedroom is fucking freezing.

Balls.