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.
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.
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”.
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.
I’m glad that I keep this blog; it’s useful for reading over past events and keeping a rough timeline and sense of what’s gone on in my life.
As it gets towards Christmas I’m conscious that Dakota will be back soon and she preoccupies my thoughts more than usual, especially with the possibility of a new job soon which will finally provide funds for travel and other exciting things. Finally I might be able to seriously plan to take her away somewhere in concrete terms.
Speaking of Christmas, I find myself oddly at peace with Christmas this year; normally it’s something that I loathe intently. For me Christmas started this year when I was chatting with BM and she said that she had to come into work on a Sunday to put up the decorations. We exchanged mutual groans and eye rolling but actually I rather like the pub with Christmas trees and decorations: it adds a certain cosiness to the place.
Maybe it’s that this is the first Christmas in ages where I’ve felt this positive, albeit cautiously so, about the future?