Battling the nothingness

3 03 2012

The funniest thing about all of this is that normally, I’d be having this conversation with my therapist. Only he’s dead.

It’s unfortunate but the mighty Malcolm Omar, whom I foolishly regarded as a friend passed away a couple of years ago and there’s no one that’s filled that gap for me yet. I say foolishly because I doubt he ever regarded our interaction as friendship, rather simply a client therapist relationship. Despite this, I would still rather count him amongst my friends as he can’t answer back now to deny this. If he could I am sure he would remind me that I owe him forty quid.

My wife, who has similar ambitions to become a therapist, has told me that in her professional opinion, I have not inherited my mother’s bipolarism. That’s as may be, but I have more than my fair share of depressive bouts and times where I feel I am unable to produce anything of worth, where it counts.

At the moment it is one of those times. A real low point where everything seems bleak.

I was sat in a restaurant listening to a character assassination the other evening. Every word was deserved. My reflex reaction was to blame my parents. But that’s all too easy and a cowardly side step away from confronting the truth.

The family at the moment and by family I mean my wider family, outside of my home unit, is fragmented. I haven’t seen my sisters in ages, my mother too. My father, despite the sporadic contact, is an entirely different person nowadays to the father I grew up with. It’s like I’ve lost a family and have had to start again.

Work is hard and constant. Fulfilling in some respects and but never fills my pockets enough and those pockets seem to be getting ever deeper. I’m immensely proud of what we’ve achieved, I’m just not sure if it will ever make me a rich man.

Today I woke up after having slept almost 12 hours, for the first time in a long time. I woke up feeling empty, like the tiredness had left nothingness in its place.

I’m battling, I can’t articulate my thoughts very well at the moment. There are things I want to say but every time I open my mouth nothingness falls out.


The world’s gone flotilla mad.

27 06 2010

Flotilla is one of those words that doesnt really get out much, but when it does, oh boy does it have a lot of making up for lost time to do.

Surely, the flotilla, or at least the idea of a flotilla as some sort of expression of protest is now so over done that we have all lost interest?

First there was the ill fated Turkish Flotilla, with its quest to batter the living shit out of a few Israeli commandos. That didnt go too well.

Then there was the Irish attempt, which was an anti-climax in which no one really got hurt or killed, although I did hear of more than one case of Israeli caused, sea-sickness. Those bastards, have they no decency?

Now we have the Flotilla of the daughters of Mary, Flotilla against peace, Flotilla for Peace, a US Flotilla (only once around the statue of liberty, alas) in aid of kidnapped Israeli Soldier Gilad Shalit.

I for one am amazed at this maritime madness. I can only assume that ALL of the aforementioned Flotillas are organised by people with absolutely nothing better to do.

Jaysus, get up, go to work, pay the mortgage and feed the wife and kids; or get on a boat and pick a fight with one of the world’s most aggressive military outfits? Mmmm, no brainer really.

Personally, I just have to so much look at a boat and I get sea sick and the word Flotilla instantly casts images of unflushable faecal matter which is precisely what these ill advised so called humanitarian efforts amount to.

What next? Bono, Chris Martin and Sir Bob Geldoff getting together to arrange Flotilla Aid? A concert put together by do-gooder idiots to raise much needed funds for the world’s most violent terrorists?

Its all a matter of taste. Bad taste.

Going Nuts- Consider the Squirrel

19 10 2008

Just Some Innocent Fun- No Squirrels Were Harmed In Writing This Piece

If like me, the mind numbing drudgery of everyday life, makes you wonder why you bother getting up in the morning- spare a little thought for the squirrels.

What have they ever done to deserve the credit crunch, freak floods, freak storms, global warming, HIV and radical Islam?

I was passing a squirrel just the other day, gnawing on a nut. As I handed the nut to the squirrel, I decided that on reflection it’s probably a preferable option to be a squirrel as opposed to a human fighting their way through the shit-storm of everyday life.

The very next morning, I climbed in a tree and began working my way through a bag of mixed nuts. By eleven AM, I was beginning to suffer vertigo and was developing a terrible thirst from all the nuts I had eaten. That’s when I got to thinking. What do squirrels drink? In fact, come to think about it, I had never seen a squirrel drink anything before. Perhaps that’s how squirrels die.

I woke up an hour and a half later, nursing a large, throbbing bump on the back of my head and picking bits of tree out our my hair. It was then that I decided I wasn’t cut out for Squirreling.

So I walked back into work, and tried to convince them to give me my job back.

“But your exact words were, ‘Shove your oppressive job up your capitalist arses and go fuck yourselves’. No I don’t think we will reconsider your hasty ‘resignation’. “

So much for sympathetic management.