So things at the new place are going well-ish. There isn’t so much a learning curve as a learning cliff, but I’m coping, actually I’m rather liking it. I think that I have to be in the deep end of things, fully immersed, to really feel like I’m doing something worthwhile. The only slight problem is that it must be triggering some anxiety in me in that I can’t sleep the night before so I end up exhausted during the day and that often leads to real anxiety during the day also. I’ve got myself some valerian which hopefully will help.
In other news Tuesday Night Drinking took a turn for the amusing when two girls, student nurse dropouts who have formed a band, decided to rock up to the pub. Much chatting ensued. I was explaining what I do in life and BM, who was passing by, yelled out, “HE’S NOT POOR!” for some reason. I found this amusing; I think she was trying to help me out. Long story short we ended up in the one place that might possibly let them put on an impromptu gig and got royally shit faced.
I keep dreaming about Dakota. Dreams where we go away together. Dreams where we’re cuddling. Dreams where she’s climbing on top of me. I was quite annoyed. I had this dream where we were in a bar and I was slouching on this huge leather couch, a great big brown thing that I was slowly sinking into rather comfortably. She was sitting next to me and by sitting I mean she was turned over fully on her side towards me, resting her head on her hand. A friend was on the other side of the table and we were all chatting away. Suddenly she straddles me, kisses me, bites my lip, kisses me again, just like S does actually. I looked at her for a second, surprised by the whole thing and then I was about to do the thing that comes naturally to me: bury my head in her cleavage. Just as I was in the process of burying I woke up. FUCKING. NOT. HAPPY.
Book buying has continued apace: I’ve bought Niall Ferguson’s new work The Tower and the Square which is all about the impact of informal social networks on history. Leviathan which should need no explanation and a couple of other books. The Tower and the Square is interesting. So far I’ve only read the first third which is a crash course on network theory which is interesting. I’m a huge fan of Ferguson’s work, I find him hugely insightful and he tends to take interesting perspectives on questions that most people feel have been answered so I’m really looking forward to getting into the meat of the book.
I’ve been following Peterson since September 2016 when he first came to prominence and I’m one of those people who can say that he’s changed my life. I preordered his new book 12 Rules for Life and got his previous one Maps of Meaning for christmas. If you ever take a piece of advice from a random blogger watch this guy’s stuff on YouTube, especially if you’re male and under forty.
So this is the infamous Channel Four interview with Cathy Newman. For background, Ch4 is a very neomarxist leaning channel and it’s news program is reflective of this. They’re hardcore feminists, anticapitalists etc etc and Peterson wrecked them in under thirty minutes.
So I bought The Other Greeks: The Family Farm and the Agrarian Roots of Western Civilization. Victor Davis Hanson is one of my intellectual heroes and I buy his books as a matter of course. Actually that’s not true there’s a lot of his books that I have no interest in, like I will never buy Mexifornia I don’t think.
Anywho, I now know more about the cultivation of olives and fruit trees than 99% of the global population. I hate olives. I’ve only read the first two chapters so I can’t really say much. There’s a lot about olives.
Turns out that it was our mistake. Our association sent off an incorrect date of birth to hombu. I must say that hombu are remarkably on the ball. I just provided them with my name and the country I’m in and within an hour I got an email back with a photo of the physical form that we sent off a year ago with our head of association Cc’d into it. No organisation in the UK is that efficient.
Today is a day of pensiveness. I feel sleepy but not tired which is normal for this time of year. I was looking down the garden as I was making tea earlier and noting how the leaves are turning yellow. Everything has that damp heaviness that signals the arrival of autumn. Yesterday I found myself in the front room watching the sunset, the yellows, the pinks, the blues, the fading of the light. I find that I’m withdrawn, always looking to hunker down somewhere, wanting the next hot sweet thing, a cup of hot chocolate, a rich coffee. So basically I’m undergoing my normal reaction to autumn.
Another curious thing, which is normal for this time of year, is that I want to read fiction and write. Normally my reading habits centre on nonfiction, except during the autumn and winter. I suppose that’s why I’ve been blogging more than usual, I feel the need to write, even if it’s complete nonsense.
For some reason I feel the need to read Henry Miller. Sex. I suppose that I like him because he’s so masculine. Camille Paglia says that our culture is so feminised that we no longer produce authors like Miller and we’re not comfortable with raw male sexuality anymore and part of me would like to write something that redresses that. I reckon that I could write something that would trigger feminists so hard and cause such scandal that I’d be world famous. I just don’t have the patience to write.
I’d like to write a book that just fucks up our current culture’s narrative about male views of women and rubs male sexuality in it’s face in a totally unapologetic way but without it being pornographic. The point wouldn’t be to write sex scenes but to really convey male psychology with all its facets from looking at some women as pure fuck meat to rut with to falling in love with someone and desperately wanting an emotional connection with her through sex and these two extremes can coexist with each other.
I want to write a book that teenagers read to shock their parents and I think that with the dominance of left wing thought and feminist moralising doing that is a piece of piss. I want to release my inner enfant terrible. I want to be sat opposite some seething feminist presenter on a late night culture show and to say, “You’re only angry because you’ve never been fucked like that” and grin as I take a sip from my whisky.
The more I think about this the more I grin to myself and think that it’s a really good idea.
I don’t know but – I may have swung myself an interview. Last Friday, purely on a speculative basis, and because I was pissed off after finding out that I wasn’t getting an interview for the last job I was going for, I randomly applied for another job with the same organisation, but higher up. I expected nothing to come of this and, if I’m honest, I still expect nothing to come of this. Literally I just copied and pasted all of the application from the previous one and submitted it just so that I felt that I was still pushing and driving myself forward – still doing something proactive. Yesterday I got an email asking me to take the online test……… I took it today and passed.
So we’ll see. I don’t even really match the criteria. I didn’t even fully read the criteria! I was just so riled up and fed up that I dismissively did it. This I think is actually an improvement: I think that this kind of reaction is much healthier than how I used to react which was by getting down and disheartened and passive. Now I always want to punch back: I get knocked back and I fire off another application the same day. I don’t care about matching the criteria: It’s their fucking problem to sort out, not mine!
I’m amazed at how much I’ve changed in the past eight or nine months. I’m so much more confident, more assertive, more positive, more future orientated. The thing which frustrates me is that things aren’t moving as fast as I would like. I’m ready to take the next step in my life.
BM was curiously chatty on Tuesday night. Usually I get ignored up to a certain point at which point she becomes chatty and usually I have to initiate. Jboy went off to the bar and R sent me a message which was hilarious and naturally I burst out laughing as she was walking by. Her head swivelled, the eyes narrowed suspiciously, “And what are you laughing at?” So I explained. Then after that we had a back and forth and naturally at the end of the night I got the usual “Get out!” rather than, “Would you finish your drinks, please”. She makes me laugh; I love her attitude, her toughness, how hard she works and I feel quite protective towards her: if there is anything that looks like trouble I find myself keeping more of an eye on her than usual just incase.
I suppose I’d better get to bed.
Oh, in other news, I bought Cryptonomicon by Neal Stephenson, who is one of my favorite authors. I didn’t appreciate that it’s 918 pages of small type! I honestly have no idea when I’m going to read it. I’m actually, despite my positivity and whatnot, in a bit of a funk: I’m quite tired and my concentration isn’t great.
So on monday I called up the surgery, my usual GP wasn’t in so I decided that I’d just go and see any doctor. During the consultation it was established that I have the classic symptoms of bipolar disorder; a shocking revelation for someone with a diagnosis of bipolar disorder.
I wanted medication, specifically I wanted ritalin because there is literature to support its use with bipolar disorder and it’ll help me concentrate and focus. Instead what happened is I got referred to my community mental health team. Personally I think that this is a bit OTT, but whatever. They called on Tuesday and basically gave me the choice of a talking therapy or an assessment with a psychiatrist, which could lead to a talking therapy. On advice I chose to go for the assessment. I have no idea when this will be. I think maybe that because it’s been so long since I was under medical supervision that they want to drag me in and see where I am. Where I am, all in all, is a pretty good place.
At the moment my only real symptoms are that I’m exhausted all the time, I’m a bit subdued and I don’t enjoy anything or am able to motivate myself to do anything. That said, I did have a real moment at work today where I almost broke down. I sat there with my head in my hands and just stared out of the window for a good ten minutes crushed by what I can only describe as a wave of hopelessness. I nearly cried. Then it passed and I cracked on.
Oh and at lunch today I decided to actually just sit in Starbucks and read. Usually I grab a sandwich and a coffee and head back to the office, but I felt the need to be out. I’m reading The Fall by Camus. Reading Camus is very much a depression thing I think. Reading serious fiction, as opposed to sci-fi is a depression thing actually: I think something about being depressed and introspective makes me want to read fiction as a way of exploring alternative perspectives on life. Or something.
What can I say? I have a touch of depression. I don’t enjoy life right now. I’m not even enjoying going out drinking and everything feels hopeless. I just want to sleep all of the time and I’ve spent basically as much time as I can in bed. Rationally I know that everything in my life is at least no worse than it has been recently so I try and constantly check my moods with a bit of rational thinking, but you feel how you feel at the end of the day.
Also I’ve started using the I-ching again. Yes, I know, divination is bullshit. At least I think I know. I find it remarkably accurate but then I suppose the entire point of it is that you can read into it whatever you like. It’s unrelentingly positive about Dakota and things that it says will end badly end badly and things that it says will end well end well. It’s a crutch at a difficult time. Then again if it’s random chance what is the statistical likelihood of a positive result every single time?
I just have this profound ennui. I’ve started reading fiction, which is semi-rare. I’m reading Tropic of Cancer and I suppose I just feel trapped and bored. I long for something a bit more bohemian in my life. I want to take Dakota to Paris, sit in a bar and listen to jazz and just talk and talk and talk. I feel the need to write too, but I’m not inspired so I don’t know what to write about.
Actually, I’m just restless.