Blah

So the day after Christmas, which we call boxing day, mum fell over and fractured her wrist which means that I do all the cooking. Dad has this habit of smothering all his food in salt, as in, he spends four or five seconds sprinkling salt on all his food, before he’s even tasted it; it’s something that has to be seen to believed. I’ve noticed something in the past couple of weeks since I started cooking: Dad doesn’t even touch the salt anymore.

I suspect that this is because I bother to actually season the food, unlike mum.

 

In other news fuck I’m manic. Hypomanic. Whatever. I can’t say that it’s hugely fun since it’s fucking up my sleep which puts me in a position where I’m two steps away from a panic attack. On the other hand I am getting a lot done and finally keeping my room tidy. I find that if I can get some sleep I can focus the energy into a laser like point and get so much done. Without that sleep I go to shit.

I had an interview last Tuesday and aced it so I’m off to a new place, which I’m not going to talk about except to say that Dakota works for the same organisation where she is. I haven’t told her yet, I’m waiting until I get my lanyard and ID and then I’m just going to send her a selfie.

So, I’m feeling pretty positive for the future again and I have bags of energy. I must get driving lessons sorted out; there’s a place which does the whole course in a week. The parentals are somewhat sceptical about this but I’m like, it’s the same number of hours, just all at once and the total cost is identical, so why not just get it done in a week? Plus, me being me, I like the idea of getting it done in one go, I like the focus. I like being on a mission.

My long term goals haven’t changed, I’m just forced to take a more indirect route than I would have liked but I’m confident that I’ll be where I wanted to be at the end of last year by the end of this year.

 

 

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How gay.

So C and I went drinking last night. BM was there with some of the staff having a drinking session by the quiz machine. C and me joined them, numerous jagerbombs were knocked back and then BM announced that she thought that I was gay. This was quickly put right, next thing I know, BMs head is on my shoulder as she tells me how much she loves her BF, MT, who is standing opposite us. Then we hugged each other a few times and she was pretty much squeezing the shit out of me.

Needless to say I was beyond not happy. I’m still not happy. I’m fed up. First there’s the fact that I’ve been flirting with BM for fuck knows how long, I’ve asked her out, and the whole time she’s been thinking that I’m gay. On one level it’s quite funny because I’ve been perving over her for however long and probably getting away with it in a way that I wouldn’t if she thought I was straight.

The other thing is that this periodically happens and it’s irritating. Last time it happened I talked to S about it and she says it’s a British women thing: Any guy who isn’t a knuckle dragger immediately registers as gay to British women. I remember being in a bar and it was a really warm summer night and we were getting ready to leave so I had my jacket slung over my shoulder. This group of girls motioned me over and they, giggling, said, “We think that you’re gay” “Why do you think that?” “Because you’ve got your jacket slung over your shoulder”. That’s what I’m dealing with.

This goes hand in hand with S’s and CM’s and every other foreign female friend’s observation that British women don’t know how to dress and always look like their beauty regime consists of being dragged through a hedge backwards. So whatever.

 

Jingle bells etc

So I have Jordan Peterson’s book Maps of Meaning, his new book on pre-order, money, whisky, and a bottle of Bleu de Chanel, which is good because I’ve almost finished the last one.

I’m actually enjoying this Christmas. I think that this has a lot to do with Jordan Peterson ruining my atheism to the point where I think of myself as a cultural Christian and believe that there is a God, it just isn’t a supernatural magic man in the sky. It’s funny because Jboy and I have this discussion around Christmas time about how Christmas doesn’t have the same magic as when we were children and now thinking about it, of course it doesn’t.

When we were children Christmas was made magical for us. We still had morning assemblies in school where we prayed, sang hymns and Christmas carols and the whole period was infused with that warming Church of England Christianity. We even got dragged off to church for a Christmas service. Now everything is much more secular so, of course it, has no magic about it. In fact it reduces the whole period to an empty ritual and the emptiness is obvious and hollowing of the human psyche.

So I’m sitting here listening to Carols from King’s and I’m reminded of my childhood and I feel some of that magic, I’ve been feeling it since Christmas really got going and it’s great.

 

 

 

Whatever.

I’m so utterly fed up right now. Dad’s endless negativity is grinding on me and I’m doing these job applications and I wonder why I’m bothering. I’m at a point where I feel no hope for the future. I know this feeling will pass; I’ve been on this rollercoaster enough to know how it goes, but that’s where I am at the moment. I don’t feel that the slog is getting me anywhere and this whole year has been a waste. I’m in this place where I realise I have to keep motivated even though I feel that there’s no point.

I think this is why the older I get the more I just want someone to look after me: I get fed up of being strong all of the time. I get fed up of putting on the brave face and keeping calm and carrying on and “you’ll get there in the end”. I just want to escape the world and bury my face in S’s or BM’s or Dakota’s cleavage and not have to deal with any of this for a while.

I feel like I’m almost being masochistic to myself at the moment: I get a rejection email and immediately I set the wheel in motion for another rejection email. That’s kind of like emotional self harm, isn’t it? Deliberately doing something that’s probably going to make me feel like shit over and over and over again. It’s insane too, doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.

I think part of me enjoys the struggle though. If I don’t do it then I’m stuck here and if I get through it then I’ll feel like a badass. It’s like training for black belt; those moments of laying on the mat and just thinking, “No, no more. I can’t do anymore. Sod the grading, I just want this to end” and then somehow summoning up the will to pick myself up off the mat and carry on. I don’t know where I get this determination to carry on from. It definitely doesn’t come from some huge confidence about the future or myself or something. It’s a “what else am I going to do?” Or as Jordan Peterson would put it, “Have you got something better to do with your life?”. No, I’m trying to make my life better so……welcome to the slog.

Maybe I won’t get anywhere. Maybe this is as far as I get. Maybe it is all pointless but the kicker is that the only way I’ll find out is to crack on and see what happens exhausting, depressing, soul crushingly miserable as it is. Like this is how you become hardcore: You get shit done when other people would give up.

See, now I can feel the aggression kicking in. I get so fucking frustrated sometimes. Like, the fuck is this bullshit about really? It’s just bullshit piled on bullshit piled on yet more bullshit and I wish that there was one person responsible and that smacking the fuck out of them would solve it. I’d absolutely love to solve all this with violence. I’m so fed up of nothing ever working out. I’m fed up of picking myself up, doing something knowing full well that it’s pointless and then being Jack’s complete lack of surprise when it doesn’t work out and there basically being fuck all that I can do about it apart from repeat the process. There isn’t a single part of my life that I’m happy with and the only good thing I can say is that I’m not giving up.

Meh, whatever. Get there eventually.

Bum hole.

So, I didn’t get the job so I’m stuck where I am, for now. I have three more in the pipeline though. I crack myself up; how many times did I take my GCSE’s and A ‘Levels’ before I passed, uni, I took brown belt in Aikido five times, which is unheard of. I’ve slogged my guts out for a year trying to get this job. I look at myself in the mirror and think, “You’re not exactly lacking in determination, are you?” One thing I really like about myself: I get there in the end. I am undefeatable, indefatigable, indomitable, invictus. Once I start I don’t stop.

In other news the dishwasher died on Friday, RIP. A new one was ordered and was meant to come on Sunday but the deluge of snow prevented that, so it came today. In related news mum went to the heathen territories known as “Scotland” on Friday leaving YT in charge. I always impress myself when this happens: All meals have been planned until next Friday and shopping ordered.

Which leads me to pondering something: I’m one of these people that will invariably find an easier way of doing things. So, can I be bovvered with chopping veg? Nah, mate. I buy 500g packs of frozen chopped onions, peppers, carrots, yada yada because they literally cost £1 each. Now apparently a large onion is 100g and costs like 50p or something so 500g for £1, already chopped for those us too bone idle to do it ourselves, is a bit of a bargain as I see it.

I’m kind of wondering how it is that people say that they can’t afford veg. 2.5 kilos of veg for £5…… You can get a kilo of mixed veg for £1 and frozen is just as good as fresh nutritionally. Also no clean up. You just open the bag, chuck however much you want in and that’s it. No bits of peeling or skin or any of that bollocks. Simples.

In curious news BM now plonks herself down next to me whenever and starts talking. I find this surprisingly discombobulating. I actually struggled to find something to say to her which is highly unusual.

 

 

Love this song.

Reminds of the time Dakota stormed out because I brought India along only to be consoled when I told her that I loved her and couldn’t love India. “Am I supposed to believe that you couldn’t feel the same way about her!?!” “YES, THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BELIEVE BECAUSE IT’S TRUE!!!” “Then everything’s good then, enjoy the rest of your night”.

Hmm

 

Literally every rap song sounds like this to me. I’m like, “Yes, you’re from some shit hole, you’re in a gang, you deal drugs, you drive fast cars and you fuck “bitches” “hoes” and you smoke tons of weed, and you’re a really violent and insecure person yada yada”. So it took me about a week to realise that this is actually a parody.