I’ve been absent from this nonsense for a bit mostly because I am not great at technology and I’ve had to set up another account for a charity thing and switching between the two accounts is an impossibility (probably).
I’m on day 30 of a stupid idea to raise some money for Crisis, the homelessness charity. I am currently walking a total of 500 miles, broken into 5 mile a day chunks (mostly). At all times when I’m walking, I am listening to the proclaimers song “I’m gonna be (500 miles)” on repeat. By the end of today I will have listened to that most awful of songs just over 600 times and will have covered about 140 miles. As you can imagine, I am loving every minute of this….
The plan is to be finished as soon as I can but blisters and generally boardering on a mental breakdown are drawing this out.
Back in the olden days before Covid, we booked a break in the most United of Kingdoms. Today was the day we ventured out to begin said break.
We picked a cottage in the middle of nowhere for our family unit and good lord did we pick well. The picture above is from my evening wander with the dogs. I have no idea what the big hill in this pic is called (potentially a mountain?) But watching the sun fall behind it was bloody nice.
Wandering alone in near silence along an over grown path brimming with nettles, thorns and other pointed species of the naturus bastardus genus was beyond cathartic. I really love moments that highlight the amazing insignificance of our existence and find it really soothing to know that in the grand scheme of things, nothing really matters. This feeling was amplified today by a Drystone wall.
Sometimes having these moments really help with reducing the stresses of small things. On the drive to our destination I kept thinking about work and if the out of office message on my email was enough, or too vague, and if I should have brought my laptop to tie off some tasks. On my walk I was suddenly very aware that the dry stone wall to my right had likely stood since before both my birth, or the birth of my parents, and that even some of the moss on the stones probably judged me as a young whipper snapper. The wall had silently stood and watched the world change without notice, and would likely stand forever unless forcibly shifted.
It was just me, a couple of cows in a nearby field and that OAP wall. A beautifully loud silence occasionally disturbed by the crunch of my footsteps shifting gravel and stones.
It’s really hard to articulate any of this. I hope that if I ever read back over this i get a pint of endorphins and dopamine swirling around my brain. Today I felt alone and amazingly small for about ten minutes and it was beautifully sad.
Well the weekend came and went, and although it was nice, I’ve been feeling broken again in the old brains.
Thoughts of doing silly things have kept back in a bit and I have resorted to saying “silly things” because it’s easier and more comfortable to write than what it is. I’d like the point out I have no urge to act at all, but the thoughts are there.
I’m trying to take better care so today I’ve taken the day off work. The decision was made when I was roughly one hour into the work day. Instead of works I’m going to dog walk and take time to just sit, possibly have an early night tonight. Some would say it’s a waste of a days holiday and generally I would agree, but it feels like the wise thing to do. I’m not ok today so I’m going to try and be.
So… Well…. I have a love. It is a strange love, but still a type of love. Since a long time (I was young), I have found a thing that is fun.
The thing, is to think and plan each word. It can be so hard, but it makes me pleased.
Often, over thinking about breaking language smaller impacts joyous feelings.
Always cognate, reflect, even focus before writing.
Concentrate. Examine endlessly.
I like to spend time thinking bout syllables, well I’m not sure I like it but I do it loads. I love a haiku, the flow of words like a river, satisfy my soul. You have no idea how satisfying it was to mention my haiku love in the form of a haiku. The first bit of waffle was written using only one syllable words, then only two, and the last 3 words all threes.
Am I bored? Almost certainly. Did this fill some time? Yes. Am I now trying to decide if the plural of haiku is still haiku, or does it have an s? You better believe it.
I can’t even begin to think of a way to tie this to anything relevant so I will find a stock picture for this and then post it. I bet there is something that represents Zen and haiku etc in the stock pictures.
I am shattered. Totally knackered. Kaput and done in. Today was my first day back at attempting to exercise, and bit did it hurt. A few weeks ago I was really in the swing of being a healthy-ish person. This was brought to a sudden stop by mystery illness (we thought covid but testing came back fine).
If I want to visit the bathroom in my house I have to go up 12 stairs, then have a slight rotation anti clockwise and 2 more stairs. These 14 stairs are a constant source of shame and often highlight my poor fitness level with any semi rapid ascent. I decided that running up and then down the 14 steps 100 times would somehow show those carpeted fuckers who was boss. It turns out that running up and down that many times results in jelly legs and a strong attraction to the possibility of curling up into a ball and dying. 2800 steps suck when you introduce gravity.
This exercise combined with walking the dogs has rendered me broken. I’m currently looking at purchasing some bionic knees.
Today I won at Scrabble and had coffee. I also watched a 5 year old play on Minecraft while providing constant narration. David Attenborough has nothing to worry about. Other than being roughly 400 years old. I bet being related to David Attenborough is awful. He is too interesting and has lived such an amazing life that all of your own stories are just crap in comparison. I just googled him to check his age and I clicked a link for 15 amazing facts about David and it has crashed my internet browser fully.
I suppose that brings this to an end. Have a wonderful whenever
It appears that at 9:55am I have pretty much completed the internet. I didn’t get to sleep until really late and only stopped scrolling because I ran out of things to read. I am now sat writing this to prevent online impulse shopping, I almost bought socks that are pizza themed and come delivered in a mini pizza box, but thankfully I managed to escape this fate.
It’s amazing that we often feel bored of the internet, or like we have reached a point where we can’t think of anything to do on it. There is literally and immeasurable number of nonsense available floating about the ether, ripe for plucking, but people get lazy and tend to only stick to a small number of sites or apps before declaring boredom. I think there may be value (the almost certainly isn’t) in using a random word generator to pop together a couple of words to then search. Who knows what amazement this could bring.
Well a brief Google reveals that there is a website called randomwordgenerator.com which just goes to show the untapped potential of this experiment. I’ve requested 2 random words and have been gifted this…
Typing random number generator into Google provided me with the number 3. All that is left to do is to Google bland giant and see what the 3rd result is….
So result 3 is a link to an Instagram account for a “James Bland”. It appears that this man, with a rather upsetting surname, was involved in a TV series called “Giants”. Already we are learning something new. I’ve potentially found something to watch later. To be honest I probably wont but this started well.
I’ve increased to 3 words on the generator and I believe this investigation is for the wee hours maybe…
I’m off to play Scrabble and eat olives.
Additional note… I now realise that I didn’t cover any of the things in the title
That title took me 5 minutes. I think it is potentially a glimpse of what is to come from this post.
I have what I believe to be an illness which is yet to be named. It is a mental illness, almost certainly a result from some sort of trauma. Or drug exposure as a younger person. Probably a little of each. This affliction is amazingly specific in its symptoms and is something I suffer from daily. It is also related to a specific TV theme show.
You know how every so often somebody hums part of a song, or possibly sings a bar or two, and that song is then jammed in your head, bouncing around on a loop for hours? Well everyday for at least the last year I have had the theme tune to only fools and horses go through my head on a loop. The trigger for this is always related to hearing part of a sentence spoken that could be used as a replacement to the opening line of the the only fools and horses theme tune….. Bear with me
“stick a pony in me pocket, I’ll grab the suitcase from the van” is the opening lyrics to this song. At all times my brain is apparently keeping note of the rhythm of any spoken words and of they are close enough to “stick a pony in me pocket”, I automatically think “I’ll grab the suitcase from the van” and then relive the full theme tune in my head on a loop for hours.
Every day I have this. Every. single day. I’m trying to think of a recent example but can’t due to the theme tune from only fools and horses currently going through my mind.
Next time it happens I will try to remember to write it down.
I can’t think of anything to say. I much prefer the end music to episodes of only fools. My brain can’t even play the good one.
Today was canny. It was one of those days where the weather yo-yos from sunny and nice to lashing down with rain for a few minutes before reverting back. Work was decent for a change and the kids were mostly lovely. We went out for a brief visit to see family for the first time in months and it was odd. I have nothing of value to say today and I’m only writing for the sake of getting something out on the virtual page.
I once read about stream of consciousness writing where you pick up a pen and just wrote without thinking but aiming not to stop. Apparently you reach a point where you just “flow” and interesting sub conscious stuff can sometime get knocked loose and tumble out. I don’t think I would do it on paper due to my hand writing being embarrassingly illegible, and due to the hand cramps that would result. Our kids are 7 and 5 and already ask if we should Google things to find the answer. All of the libraries around us have closed which sucks. I miss visits to them with the kids. That strange old book smell. Yankee should candle it.
Do you think they have an objective when creating candle smells? Like a theme and a concept or it’s more a case of hot stuff together and have a boff? I detest candles with names that are overly whimsical. You know where you stand with a lavendar, but buying a “babies breath” is a risk. I would like to have the job of candle name selector. Here are a few that would be great;
Recently used whisk
That is the end of the candle section. I’ve gone totally into typing for the sake of it and it’s nice. Feels better than scrolling social media and topping up on anger and hate. I never go back over these posts to spell check and wonder if that is a mistake. I read a list of words with no English equivalent recently and found a lovely one that is as follows
Waldeinsamkeit is a German word that refers to the feeling one has while being alone in the woods, usually a sublime or spiritual one.
It’s a very specific thing but something I understand and have felt. Similar to when you have a moment of quiet and it feels really sobering and you become really aware of that very moment of existence.
Today I was corrected on how old I will he on my next birthday. I was so convinced that I was right that I went as far as to try and crunch the numbers on my head, knowing that my inability to add would probably impact the reliability of the results.
I was totally wrong in my assumption that September would welcome me to the 34th year of my life. I was a year out. Time has become much more mushy and fluid as I’ve gotten older, and isolation has further impeded the viscosity of the present. When I started this post there were 8 minutes left of the day, 6 minutes have passed since then. Time needs to slow down.
Today I am still sober, and that aspect of things has thankfully became normal. I don’t get anywhere near as many feelings of unease in my body when sober. Recovery is possible if you ask me right now, hopefully the answer will stay the same as we hurtle through the years. 509 days sober today, I went and checked. Well… I switched to another app, so physically I went no where. it’s 2 minutes into Monday and I don’t feel tired at all. I can hear the occasional sound of a car passing by, cutting through the calm cyclical sounds of my sleeping wife’s breathing.
Mentally, things are a bit sloppy at present. I’ve been ill so exercise and healthy eating came to a stand still. Today I ate 7 oatmeal cookies. The oats cancel out any of the fat and sugar used to bind it all together you know. Apparently you burn more calories eating celery than you gain from it. I presume that this is a result of your brain going into overdrive trying to figure out why you are eating celery in the first place. I hate how it is a crunch that turns into stringy nonsense. I’ve not given celery the attention it deserves. I’m sorry celery.
It is 8 minutes into Monday and I’ve apologised to celery.
I’ve just spent far too long on the official wiki page for celery. I didn’t find anything about the calories thing (I suspect it is a lie created from the inner workings of the celery racket, to increase sales), bit did find this sentence….. Eating celery can increase the pheromone androsterone, which is a natural aphrodisiac found in male perspiration. There is a huge amount to unpick here. Personally I think this is the aspect of celery we should focus on, rather than the calories burned eating it.
This went off track for a change. It is 15 minutes into Monday, and I’m wide awake.
I took a picture of a weird fern thing the same day of my last post. I’d mentioned it and promised a picture. Here it is. I’d say better late than never, but never might have been better than late in this instance.
It strikes me that my approach to blogging is similar to the travel patterns of our local Jehovah’s witnesses. I turn up with a message, say some stuff and then leave (I don’t have any leaflets but I’m working on it). Some time passes and just as you start to forget our awkward exchange, I’m back. Knocking on your metaphorical door.
I haven’t seen our local witnesses for a while. I am unsure of the collective term, potentially a prayer of Jehovahs. The last time they came they discussed the dangers of life, and worries about the internet and the evils within. I advised that I was not looking for any faith but happily took the leaflet they had. The leaflet had a link to their website on the back.
So… How’ve you all been? I sincerely hope you and your family and friends are well, and that the pandemic has been manageable thus far. I have many feelings regarding the handling of said pandemic however, I don’t think this is the place for venting. I would like to waffle about other stuff in an attempt to have a few moments away from the madness.
Since our (my) last waffle my mental well-being has been chaotic, but the good news is that exercising and meditation seem to be easing it a bit. We’ve been taking our alloted one exercise per day and walking the dogs along the river. Me, my better half (much better to be fair) and 2 kids have been going off the beaten trail and have had some rather nice adventures. The picture at the top of this post is of one such ramble. This is assuming I remember to go back and add it. If I haven’t, please take a moment to imagine some nice things.
There is a tree that has very light tips to it’s foliage and no have no idea of it is some sort of evolutionary trait, or just the tree equivalent of needing more zinc in your diet. I’ll get a picture today and then post it on my next thing.
Apologies if anyone reading this now is unable to sleep due to the excitement of me waffling further and providing a picture of a bit of tree.
Rain drops on roses and whiskers on kittens, bright copper kettles and warm woollen mittens. Quite a strange and specific collection of favourite things. I hate that there is no clarity regarding the list. Is it favourite things out of all things? Is it part of a bigger list? We know that these are a few of her favourite things, but why did the curtain converting nun decide those were the ones to go for? Is it the bright copper aspect of the kettle, or the kettle itself? Does she have a thing for a rather common element, or proper love a cuppa? These are a few of my biggest grievances.
Apparently I am talking about the sound of music now rather than consulting my mental health or aiming to learn something about myself. If you have read this far, maybe you need to think about the choices you have made.
How long do you reckon it took the musically inclined nun to make all of those clothes from curtains? There were roughly 34 Von trapp kids (might be slightly out here) so either the house had the same curtains in several rooms which seems odd, or the curtains used were framing some whopping fuck off windows. If anything, I am impressed at the sweatshop speeds that so many tailored garments could be made. I believe that in the sequel, Maria opens a factory in Indonesia and produces the first version of the Adidas sambas from locally sourced roller blinds.
Today is sunny. I am sober, I have my questionable health, and I am ok. Today is already shaping up to be a good day. I hope you have one too.
Soily potatoes, the smell of a new shed. Maturest of cheddars on fresh sourdough bread. The sound of my daughter’s whenever they sing, these are a few of my favourite things.*
This is a jumble of things that I like and that fit the structure nicely. I generally wouldn’t list sounds and flavours so haphazardly and to be frank, it’s upsetting me.
It is Wednesday for 7 more minutes as I write this, and I feel wide awake again. The O-so soothing sound of my wife snoring is filling the room and rattling my bones. As I finished that sentence the snoring stopped for a handful of inhales, maybe she sensed my scathing written judgements from the dream realm. Maybe I’m talking bollocks.
I spoke with the doctor via the phone and he agreed that I should double my dosage on the old anti-poo brain pills. The conversation was very brief, but I was only looking for a thumbs up before I made the increase anyway. Hopefully in a week or so I’ll be back on track and the wonderful side effects such as jitters and non sleep will have located “off”, and will have completed fucking toward that direction.
I couldn’t sleep last night. It’s just ticked over 12 so technically the night before. Well, it happened at about 3am so technically this story was yesterday morning now… The snoring has increased in sheer power just now… I bet these live updates are scintillating. At three in the AM I opened the window to get some lovely cool air flowing and I noticed the sound of nothingness. We live near a main road so this is never usually the case, but people restricting travel meant that for about 15minutes or so, not a single sound was heard. It’s amazing how disruptive complete silence can be and how silence can be so amazingly loud. A bird begin to chirp. Chirp is too nice of a word. It was not a chirp, nor bird song, it was basically noise. A bird opened its pointy face hole and let out several frequencies with no discernible tempo or structure. It could be that the bird rejected the restrictions of traditional western music and was approaching song with an atonal serialistic approach. It could also be that this particular bird was a shit bird. This bird parted its front head triangle and let out noises that caused several birds to respond in an angry chorus. This wave of noise led to further response for other clusters and the silence was replaced with bird anger. Unfortunately the pockets of noise were not in a call and response manner as perfected by Freddie Mercury, this was the sound equivalent of the bit of braveheart where a few hundred men run into eachother
We are led to believe that bird song is like bird talk. Birds calling out for a mate or to warn of danger, to announce findings to their group. The early morning rukus I witnessed made me think that quite a bit of bird song is basically birds shouting at eachother to shut the fuck up.
Some food for thought there. Next time you are out and you hear the call of a noble chaffinch, just think that it could be telling a neighbor that if they don’t keep the noise down they are going to call the police. Not the emergency ones but the bird 111 service.
I’ve totally forgotten again what my point was going to be.
I wrote a post earlier today noting the high probability that I would ignore the many things I had listed on my to-do, and instead sit so still moss may form. For the most part, I achieved this.
Was I happy that I was lazy? No. But also yes. I’ve attempted to gather the feelings felt during my very sedentary afternoon, you will find them below. Please feel free to take the selected words below and arrange them in a more pleasing manner of needed.
I am not a religious person and I believe that when you pop your clogs (or other footwear of choice), there is no unpopping or a return to an earlier stage in the clog popping process. As the existentialist philosopher and inventor of Pringles, Alexander Leipa famously noted, once you pop, you cannot stop.
Did I just Google the name of the person that patented the Pringle crisp as part of a really poor joke? You better believe it.
As a fan (wrong word) of existentialism, I believe that although death is the end, the fleeting time we have should be embraced and savoured, each opportunity presented should be taken and we should always stop to smell the roses. There seems to be a whole host of slogans that run parallel to this idea (live in the now, find your happy, make each day count etc) and I think with the pressures of social media, a large swathe of the public try to tactfully present a version of themselves doing this very thing. People feel pressure to post “proof” of their exciting lives so that they fit in and false realities pack out social feeds.
I’m starting to think that even though I only get each day once and time is fleeting, maybe I need to adjust my focus on what is important. Maybe sitting on my ever growing arse and watching crap TV with the kids isn’t as productive as hiking, learning French, or embracing “live to the maximum”, but does that make it any less valuable? Maybe it is also ok to feel bored, and feel that a day is wasted, so what? Does it matter?
I’m not entirely sure what my point is on this, but basically try to enjoy your time, but don’t feel like you absolutely have to enjoy it either. Sometimes it’s ok to be ambivalent, or meh. You don’t always have to be striving for something.
I don’t think there is a snappy or wonderful Latin phrase for what I mean. Don’t worry if you aren’t ceasing the day but are ceasing up around the knees, that’s fine. “Time you enjoyed wasting, was not wasted” was a rather cool thing John Lennon said at some point. He also said “I am the egg man, I am the walrus, goo goo ga joob” so bit of a mixed bag really. Even time wasted that was not enjoyed is fine, sometimes that happens and we shouldn’t feel bad about it.
I have no understanding of the complexities of Latin so I have done what any lazy person would do, and I’ve acquired the assistance of Google translate. Here is a credo to live by, or not.
dimittet. respirare. nudis pedibus ambulare, et nonnunquam accipere clade, per herbam
Ancient Greek saying form around 2020AD (at about half 11, in a bed)
Everything looks swish in Latin doesn’t it.
My credo reads thusly;
let go. breathe. accept defeat and occasionally walk barefoot through grass
It is now ten minutes until midnight and I need to be up for work first thing so I am going to finish there and get a good few hours of lying awake unable to empty my mind in.
According to popular belief, today is a Sunday and it is 8:30ish.
It’s really weird that the older you get, the more unstable time seems to feel as you pass through it. I’m 34 (had to check) years old and time seems to both fly and drag at the same time.
Rather than time being a constant steady flow, it feels more like travelling though some sort of dessert. I’m not decided on a type of dessert, but the point is that sometimes it’s easy and sometimes it feels like time drags a bit like passing through say custard compared to water, and other times it flies like passing through an oily section. I’ll be honest, I think I might be struggling to put this into words… Time is like some sort of food if you were walking through it.
If time feels weird now and you simultaneously can’t believe how much some days drag, but also can’t believe that we are a quarter of the way through the year 2020, I have something that will hopefully make you feel better about it all. Bear with me, this may seem super dull as a topic, but it’s not*
Wow that was super interesting
– you the reader in like 5 mins
So as you may know, we are currently residing in the two thousand and twentieth year AD. The calendar we know and love (not real love, but a love stronger than a love for black pepper on eggs, but weaker than a love of cat memes) is called the Gregorian calendar.
We haven’t always used this calendar, and before October 1582, mostly Catholic countries were using another format, the Julian calendar.
At this point in our tale, it is important to note that I have skimmed the reasons for this change and I’m sure that the process is much more complex than I am about to imply. Basically Catholicism and Easter day not lining up are the reasons for amendments.
The defined length of a day and year were altered to enable Easter to fall at a more pleasing time, potentially to ensure maximum chocolate egg enjoyment. The Gregorian calendar shortened the length of an average year by 0.0075 days. Effectively when a day was set for the change, the calculations done meant that in order to line things up in a nice manner, October 4th 1582 was followed the next day by October the 15th 1582.
Now. It may currently feel confusing, and days may have lost their meaning when leaving the house is limited and most are at home, but be thankful you didn’t have a birthday in October 1582 between the 4th and 15th.
Please take 5 minutes to mull over how much of a pain in the arse this would have been.
The change was met with some miffed people, miffed to the point of livid. Not all countries made the move and resisted a bit and operated on totally different calendars.
Just to throw another curve ball in here, Jan 1st was not always the first day of the year and new year was actually in march before the change to Gregorian (I presume this fell in line somehow with spring and all of the new life etc)
So yeah. I totally forget where I was going with this, but I am off to read/confuse myself more on the topic. It also ties in with why month names make no sense. Oct being 8 but it’s the tenth month, sept being 7 but it’s the 9th month etc.
Have a wonderful day, regardless of how you choose to measure it.
Oh, I went back and read my title, basically I will be existing around the many things I need to do, but will not be partaking.
Today my day was very straight forward, nothing worth mentioning happened at all but as part of my aim to write something each day if possible to help prevent my brain from sloshing, I have decided to start this post with no idea what will flow out. First thing I’ve noticed would be that I winced to myself when I had typed “flow” and I am not sure why. The author Phillip K Dick not only wrote some fantastic books but had a knack for wonderful titles, one of which is “flow my tears, the policeman said”. I’ve not read it, but the title is nice
Today at work during a daily video call, there was mention of how difficult it would be if we were still using dial up. This led my mind on a nostalgic tiptoe through my teenage years and how I miss the sounds of dialing into the internet.
One thing that consumed me when I was about 16 was the art of the mix tape. There was something amazingly satisfying about considering the mood of the tape, then the songs that would potentially make the tape and then importantly the order of said songs.
Do young people in love make mixtapes anymore, or do they put together a playlist? I would like to put my feelings for you into words but I am unable to express this in the written form so I have put together the following 15 minute YouTube playlist of cat videos.
I haven’t by the way. That was just a potential example of what people do now. If anyone was expecting cat videos, I have prepared none.
Do people without middle names ever feel bummed out about it? Ive got one but never use it. Might see if I can sell it. It’s only one syllable so it wouldn’t give the rhythm of your name a nice bounce. Sometimes the rhythmic feel of saying something really satisfies me and I’ll play it over and over in my head. Here are a few word collections that have a nice rhythmic feel. Saying them over and over almost like a mantra is preferred.
Egg in a bap
I nodded off a bit just there so I think I’m done. In all honesty I can’t remember anything that I’ve said but I’m sure it is all important.
Today is Tuesday despite what the long weekend would want you to think. It has often upset me that either Sunday or Monday can be deemed the first day of the week, depending on who you ask but any other day would be insanity. Of someone told you Tuesday was the first day, you would treat them as a simpleton and rightly so.
Have you ever noticed that it’s easier to think of songs with certain days of the week in the title but not others? Can you think of a Wednesday in a song title? Have a think. Go on, I’ll wait. I’ve spent quite some time pondering about Wednesday and Thursday in song titles and refuse to Google as this strips the very fun from the not fun at all task. I can think of a song title with every day of the week excluding Wednesday and Thursday. Why do these days not feature in songs as often? Is all of the action occuring at the very start and ends of the weeks?
I forgot my initial point and had to scroll back. It is Tuesday.
Today was quite good. I had to food shop but thankfully leaving the task until late in the evening resulted in very few people and reduced stress. I still wonder why there is a lack of flour available in my area and wonder how much purchased flour will be used. It seems everyone in my semi immediate location all toyed with the idea of becoming bakers but quickly realised that making a canny seeded batch isn’t all that easy. I’ve not even caught the faintest waft of baguette on the breeze.
There is a type of plant that has appeared in abundance in our garden and the kids live playing with it, but the name we know it as is throwing up quite a few winces. A picture of said plant is at the header.
It is known by several names but we know it as sticky willy, which to be honest isn’t great due to a willy being an informal penis. Informal term for a Wang, I don’t mean an actual penis in casual wear. There is potential for a joke about slacks here but I’m better than that. So far today I have heard the kids yell about the dog having a sticky willy on her chin amongst other things, bit I fear it is too late to rename this plant. I am haunted by sticky willys.
I’ve not been on this for a sizable chunk of time but I think it’s time to be back.
First and most importantly, I hope that anyone that falls into this post is well, and that your family and friends are safe and fine. I’ve been avoiding blogging for a bit because it doesn’t feel right. With everything going on, it felt a bit odd waffling about nowt and I didn’t want to throw may hat into the ring with opinions on how countries are handling this epidemic.
Basically we are at a point where my wife (please read in a Borat voice if required) has been questioning my behaviour. She noticed that I have been slipping back toward weirdness that previously led to suicidal ideation and hurting myself so it’s time to get back on this virtual horse and spill consciousness all over the ranch, or wherever this metaphorical equstrian mammal resides. Potentially a barn.
So what have you been up to Chris?
Not much. Plodding forth. I’ve not meditated in some time and need to get back to it. Almost said I’ve not done it in donkeys years, but I wanted to avoid more references to 4 legged transportation animals.
I’ve exercised a bit in the house, running up and down the stairs and I also deconstructed a child’s wooden play house. You are now up to speed on my life.
I really have nothing to say. I’ve back spaces a few bits because it all keeps heading toward covid19 and opinion. Oh I shaved about 60 percent of one of the dogs before he went in a huff, so we have a partially neat pooch.
All done. Felt good to write. Aiming to do something each day as per , but who knows eh.
Tis Monday night, the wind is blowing a hooley, and I am full of caffeine yet again.
I really need to cut down my coffee intake, it is obscene. I sometimes drink more coffee than water in a day which isn’t great. If you were to cut or stab me, I would literally bleed blood, possibly into my latte.
My dog walk turned into a 5 mile wander this evening, so I am both shattered and buzzing.
Today I had the pleasure of reading a phrase I had been completely unaware of that made me smile. The phrase was part of an email from a dissatisfied customer during work today. They were unhappy with the return they were getting from a product and said it was “like giving a donkey strawberries”. I don’t wish to go into much detail surrounding my employment however, I can confirm I have little involvement in the fruit consumption of the noble equus asinus.
I bloody love a nice phrase. I can’t think of my dad without hearing him say “he’s as daft as a ships cat”.
If you were to spend any amount of time with my nana, you would likely here her proclaim that ” many a mickle macks a muckle”. I think she enjoys the rhythm of it rather than the meaning. I don’t think she has ever used it correctly.
A mickle is a ye olde word meaning a small amount. A muckle is a large amount. To mack, is local slang for to make. Basically I think it means the small things add up.
Isn’t language git canny. Today I also learned that a bird of prey that scavenges can also be known as a shite-hawk.
This all went off track a bit. The wind is whistling currently. It is my least favourite of the weathers.
I ate mushrooms for tea. Dinner to some. I still can’t decide if they are a delight, or vile. Only time will tell.
I wonder if turns of phrase are still created, or if they have just stopped. You never hear any new ones do you? Maybe it’s not cool.
There’s more bits to say, but I think I might just try and sleep. I’m enjoying typing nothing. Yeah, that’s it I’m done
“I did not get my Spaghetti-O’s; I got spaghetti. I want the press to know this.” – final words of Thomas J Grasso
It would appear I have started writing another post apropos of nothing.
First and foremost, apropos sounds like a brand of yoghurt, possibly with a small additional container of sunflower seeds.
I have no idea why I’ve decided to type, but here we are. I’m in bed early tonight and know I won’t be tired for a good few hours so might as well waffle. Our bedroom is in the attic and currently we have the soothing sounds of a storm battering the roof. Angry rain and wind are the opposite of what I want to listen to. This is like anti meditation music. I’m waiting for something to break from the weather. The conservatory is weighing up whether it wants to remain as an unusable void of uncontrollable temperature, or if it wants to introduce water into the situation. Little does the conservatory know, we are going to tear it down and get a proper extension. I’ve not told it yet, and we generally talk about this behind the conservatories back.
To jump back a bit… Are fruit corners a yoghurt enjoyed around the globe, or are they exclusively British? This may be a bold statement, but fruit corners are one of the worst food concepts ever conceived. They present false choice.. you are deceived into thinking you have control, but the yoghurt is one step ahead. If you think about it, and I have quite a bit… There are no benefits to any of it. The options are either a) tip in the fruit and have it combined, b) eat just the yoghurt and leave the fruit and waste 25 percent of your snack, c) put small bits of jam on your spoon and dip it in the yoghurt like a serial killer, or d) only eat the jam like a psycho. Pointless.
I have strong feelings about several foods, but my heart rate needs to drop a bit. The rain has stopped. We now have beautiful silence, broken by the occasional car passing by.
You know when it’s so quiet all you can hear is a slight high pitched ringing? I’ve often wondered what note that is, or if it is a combination of notes. I’ve lay listening and tried to figure it out. I assume everyone has the ringing. I might have tinnitus.
I planned on reading back over these posts in the future, but I think it might just be baffling. I hope I say something profound at some point you know, something to be remembered by. I love reading famous last words of people that have passed, and wonder what their actual last words were. My mother in law had hers prepared. She knew she didn’t have long and tried to come up with something that summed it all up then told her daughter’s what her last words were going to be. They weren’t her last words, but became a nice little funny story the family share, so it’s still nice. I think we all hope to leave a mark; to say something wise, or create something that matters and stands the test of time.
Einstein’s last words were uttered to a nurse caring for him. He spoke them in German, a language she didn’t understand so the words were lost forever. I wonder what one of the greatest minds had to say before passing away, I wonder if it was something like “did I turn the stove off”, or “why present the option of pouring the fruit compote into the larger yogurt filled tray at all, just sell it pre mixed”
That went full circle kinda so I’m done. Apparently space smells a bit like burned steak. I heard an astronaut say this on TV. It could be total rubbish really, no one will be checking. A classic sign that you are having a stroke is the smell of burned toast. You can tell of a plug has dodgy wiring because it will smell like fish. I’m basically listing smells associated with things. I can’t think of anymore.
Oh, I’m rapidly approaching 1 year sober and I am terrified. I’ll pick that one up Wednesday or something.
I’m going to find a good “famous last words” quote to put at the top of this with a picture of yoghurt then go on Twitter. Night night.
It’s been a while (again (again)), but here we are.
since the last time I’ve done a pretty bad job of taking my tablets. If you ever feel like anti depressants do nothing, forget to take them for a couple of days and you will realise how responsible they are for your daily function. I’m back to it now, and finally feeling human(ish) again, but there was a dip into the bleak for a short bit. It was less than fun, an I was a massive walking arse to my kids and wifery, but we’re all good now.
We went out to the Hancock museum recently, to spend time looking at stuff. The kids LOVE animals and farms/zoo situations so they were thrilled when they saw large glass cabinets displaying a vast array of animals, insects, and things that I’m going to file in the misc section of zoology (what the fuck even are you sea lemon!?!?!)
Our 5 year old asked how they trained the animals to stand so still, at which point, we had to have a chat about the world of taxidermy. MY GOD. Questions fired at me in rapid succession include:
Why are they dead?
How did they die?
Did they catch them alive and make them dead or were they dead anyway?
Why did they die?
Why are they in a museum?
And my favourite, will they stay dead?
Explaining the purpose of it all kinda highlighted how grim it is. The kids were confused, but still enjoyed it all. The kids love a zoo, but the moral and ethical grounds on that whole thing are shakier than something really shaky. I’ll be honest, I felt a simile coming on, but it washed away, like bean juice from a plate.
Is a zoo worse than taxidermy? Is it possible that the zoo donate the dead animals to be filled with what I presume is high tog quilting? Is the dead Egyptian also in the museum, unwrapped from its bandages and exhumed from its sarcophagus as bad/worse/not so bad ? I have no idea where I’m going with this at all.
A man working in the museum came to talk to us, and guided us to the library to show us some really really old books. The library was closed. The man that took us there informed us of this as he took us. He let us in, told us it was currently closed, said we should return when it is open, then led us out. It was bewildering.
I’ve been thinking a bit about how I’m a bit shit at writing stuff, and eating well and keeping fit. It’s easy to get started, but maintaining the forward motion takes a great deal of work. Unfortunately you cant just push off from the side, you need to paddle to keep going and find direction. Did I just drift into some sort of kayaking metaphor? You better believe it. Did I write the word drift in the last sentence and think haha its water related? You betcha.
I’m going to try and paddle forward and keep momentum this time, even if it sometimes feels like an impossible task. If maintaining good mental health is like paddling forward, working against the tide and using the currant (current? The non grape one), then forgetting to take my pills, and eating terrible food and not exercising is very much like trying to swim in the bath.
We were on our way across the boarder into bonny Scotland to visit great granny in hospital. Google determined the shortest route to our location should navigated via a series of badly maintained roads and through a series of villages with a population of roughly 10.75 people. I will allow you to decide how .25 of a person is missing. I would have been annoyed at my virtual navigator, but the drive was beautiful. We travelled through forestry, over mountainous chunks, and spotted a whole host of farm based mammals.
Apropos of nothing, our 5 year old exclaimed “if great granny dies, I’ll be sad”. Both of the kids have had more than their fair share of exposure to death and illness in their short lives , and have asked me to answer some of the greatest philosophical conundrums conceived. I should point out that there was a follow up to what my daughter said, and it totally removes any poignancy;
If great granny dies, I’ll be sad. I won’t be able to play with the toy cars at her house anymore.
At great grannies house there are micromachines and a super van city.
To be honest, when she dies, I’m sure we will all feel the loss of access to what were fantastic toys that fully deserve a comeback.
It’s strange the things that are important. Before my grandad died, I took the same child with me to visit him. Bob told me that he had declined a course of treatment that would buy him additional weeks of life at best, and he had came to terms with his fate and had no fight left. I was the first person he told. I think he was running it by me to guage the reaction. It was a really important moment that I shared with him and it will stay with me forever. Our 5 year old remembers only that Bob had a white and a red fidget spinner and that they played with them together.
It’s sweet that both of the kids are so young that the sadness and sorrow won’t hold as much as the fun things they associated with people or a fun feeling. They remember happiness and love, rather than the shitty parts.
I attended a birthday party with child #2 and it was just awful. We arrived early and I picked a place to sit. There were 4 small round tables in a line, so I chose the very end seat. I went and danced with my littlun, and we won a flashing toy as a prize for our dazzling moves. I went to sit back down, and a family of people had sat on the row of tables, and moved my seat off to the side. My seat had a small pair of glittery shoes on it and a small faux fur coat on the back of it (my kids dress in an interesting manner) so it was clear that someone had been there. I decided that rather than feel forced to move, I would sit where I had been, assuming that my new circle of compatriots would just chat politely with me. Instead, the 3 men and 4 women opted to talk about me in hushed tones, and passively aggressively talk about how when another of their group arrived, they would be one seat short.
I could have moved, but felt that I shouldn’t have to, just because of back handed pressure. I stayed in that seat for 2 hours, and it was awkward. They never spoke to me, even after I offered a polite smile, which to be fair, may have looked like wind. We all died together, and it was beautiful. I felt pride in my stubborn and rather dickish behaviour. Also, I got cake.
Good god this is going on a bit. I need to got to bed really. I feel like there was more of a point I was aiming for, but as per usual, I’ve forgotten.
I hope I’m really old when I die. I hope that my children are still my best friends and that we still love eachother a huge amount. I hope that when I do pass, at least one child will remember me for a fidget spinner or small toy cars.
Hello me, and also anyone else that might read this sometime.
I’m planning on writing a bit tonight after a trip up to Scotland and back. This weekend, I’ve had a passive aggressive encounter at a kids birthday party, somehow hurt the back of my knee while sitting still, and heard a man yell “up your game, that was weak like piss”. The yell has so much that could be analysed. I shall return later.