Fuck, it has been
days, weeks, two, OH FUCK three weeks since I’ve done anything here.
Three weeks to the day since I’ve moved.
Somehow, I nearly always have the naivety to sign off with “I intend to post more regularly”. Considering the current upheaval in my life, I hope you’ll cut me some slack.
According to the ever-reliable internet, some of the most stressful things you can do are:
Moving out of your home.
Acclimatising to a new job*
*Gonna level with you here, I couldn’t find anything that confirmed the third one, BUT LETS JUST GO WITH IT ALRIGHT! As usual, please stick around.
In my infinite wisdom,
Why not do all three at once?
I mean, what could possibly go wrong if I move out of my home. My home, which of the 8 or 9 years I lived there, 7 of those years were spent raising my son. Of those 8 or 9 years, I lived with my partner, someone who gave me 10 or 11 years of her life to me, and I to her.
who for many years,
I thought was the person I’d be buried beside.**
**Just to stress, I meant that in a romantic way and not a creepy, suicide pact sorta way. I probably didn’t need to say this… Please, please, stick around.
Not only that but with a new job comes its own kind of changes. Wait till I tell you about the godawful toil- I’m getting ahead of myself. The toilet rant can come later.
With a reminder about the job, it’s technically within the same company, but in a different room, in a different building, with different people and that means trying to find your place in both a new role and social circle, which can be intimidating regardless of the other shake-ups currently coming my way.
People like certainty. In a way, we even welcome boredom. It’s safe. It’s easy. Even a bad job can be “comfy” because it’s familiar and that familiarity, that “sameiness”, provides a structure that we can understand.
It provides a structure that can be maintained.
We know what it is, what it will be and what the rules are, making it safe. And what’s “safe”?
Safe is easy.
Practically as I turned 31, I changed jobs, moved out, separated from my partner of 10 years and became something I was terrified to become;
A Part Time Parent.
Life, at this time, feels anything but safe.
I feel like the wrong choice, fuck it, the wrong thought could be all it takes to just bowl me over.
And you know what?
I feel alive.
Because in essence,
What this chapter of my life has become,
Is a Reboot.
I guess I should point out that me having to move out was in no way a surprise. Of course there was a point I had trouble accepting that the only way either of us, my (this word sounds so violent, it makes me flinch) Ex-Partner and I would manage to have any sort of salvageable relationship is if we parted ways.
When I realised she no longer loves me,
Feels like a story told to me.
A memory I harbour in someone else’s name.
For over a year, the plan we had agreed was that once I got a new job or a raise, whatever came first, I’d be moving out. I imagine I’ll be spewing words about how that all went down at some point. Mostly because I think until I do, I’m condemned to dwell on it. That’s not what today is about though.
Today is about change.
New Seasons, New Reasons
In an effort to
become remain positive, I made a mental checklist for myself. I knew that once this came into motion and all the pieces started moving, I was never going to survive if I went into this with an “Oh Garsh! I’m sure things’ll work out fine in the end!” mentality.
That if I had no gameplan or strategy;
Old ghosts would find me.
Which, all things considered, would be no task at all.
I’d isolate myself,
A voice not unlike my own would coo me in the dark,
And remind me how easy it would be,
To close my eyes and,
In order to stop that, I made a plan.
In essence, a list of things, in some cases distractions, that I would engage in that I felt would help me
become remain sane.
The first step was this place.
Originally, I figured this would all come into motion far sooner than it did. Just throw my CV out there and get a job.
It wasn’t a lot I was seeking.
The only requirements being that it is relatively local (no more than two bus rides to get there) and paid more. Before you focus on the latter, I am by no means well paid. I think technically speaking, I’m poor?
Anyhoo, it turns out the working world isn’t exactly screaming for no talent 30-year-olds whose key skills do little to distinguish them from a punching bag or a mop.
That being said, I knew the change would come along eventually. That surely, whether it come from charity or desperation, someone would give me the jay-oh-bee. And to handle it, I needed to be ready.
As evidenced by any early post on this place, I was not doing well at the start of this year.
And I knew it too.
I could feel it.
This vague something,
Throttling the life out of me.
Hence, this place.
This little sanctum where I go to expunge the thoughts that keep me up at night. I’ve said it before and I’m sure I’ll say it a hundred times more;
There is a noticeable difference in my state of being in comparison to when I post here often, to when I miss a week.
My head feels clearer when I talk here. It’s akin to the relief one gets from an open conversation, the type where there are no rules and nothing is off-limits. Just you and a person talking, about anything that comes to mind. With no restraints or fear of judgement.
This place gives me that feeling, which I am so, so grateful for.
I don’t think it even about it being read per se, yet I can’t deny it assuredly feels more meaningful than writing it down and locking the thought away. Here, those thoughts can take on a life of their own and maybe, hopefully, help someone who needs to read it, so they don’t feel so alone.
The second step was to try to lose some weight.
Let’s start this segment off with some facts.
I’m never going to be skinny.
I will never be the guy who is described at the bar as “That twiggy looking fucker over there”
I’m never going to be athletic or by any means “fit“.
It’s not a defeatist thing mind you. It’s simply that the interest is not there.
Those things aside, I do need to trim down.
I think I’m 5 10 or thereabouts, I’d have to get back to you on that. What I do know is I slouch and hang my shoulders. Standing straight or upright has long felt awkward and in a weird sense, un-natural. It requires focus. This could be the norm but I consider standing straight while walking to be a form of multitasking.
Being hunched over, with my lower back SCREAMING has long been my status quo. Essentially, I want to cut a stone or two to make things easier on my spine, who has been performing admirable work these past few years.
Not only that, I suppose there’s a want in me to try to be more positive in regards to my appearance, and it would definitely be easier to have body confidence if I trimmed down and made myself just a smidge less malleable.
In that regard, I’m actually doing ok. In the almost 3 weeks, I’ve gone from 15 stone and 7 pounds to 14 stone and 12 pounds. I dunno how good that is but I’m doing it in a way that I’m confident I could uphold long term.
Working full time again is definitely helping as I don’t have as much time to stuff my face out of boredom. I’ve also moved to a pretty safe area meaning I can do late-night walks while we have the summer weather, which results in me averaging 12k steps per day.
The final thing is the food. I’ve made sure to cook all my dinners for the week, sometimes even a few days ahead, to make it easier to resist the temptation those sexy, sexy takeaways. This stuff ain’t exciting to read, I’m aware of that. I’m just keeping tabs in case I somehow manage to get down to 13 stone or so using this totally DIY method. And it could be interesting to start charting my progress in that regard, to be honest about when I stay on target and when I let myself down, in the off chance interesting patterns emerge as a result.
I’m still partial to one nice takeaway one evening a week. I have needs too, ya know! GLORIOUS, SALT-RIDDLED NEEDS!
I suppose I’ve mentioned a few times now that I’ve moved, which makes this the perfect time to get on to ya about my new abode.
Step three but not really a step because its a living situation.
Back in November 2018, I had shared (very briefly) with a friend some of the pain my Ex (Christ, that is violent, isn’t it?) partner and I were going through. That things went wrong and we tried to fix it.
Then it went wrong, and we tried to fix it again, which made it worse.
I think on the fifth attempt there we did ok.
Once we hit the 7th or 8th, hell maybe it was the 9th attempt, we reckoned we had to declare this relationship dead.
We talk a lot, mind you.
At a guess,
I hazard too much.
We became so used to turning to each other that now with everything that’s dragging us both down emotionally, and otherwise… We are, SURPRISE-FUCKING-SURPRISE, turning to each other.
That’s bound to have a healthy and rewarding conclusion, right?
Anyway, the friend I shared this with did an incredibly noble thing and offered me a room at his place.
It took everything in me not to cry in front of him.
Are you sure about this?
You have no idea how much I need this right now.
I can never repay you. I was so scared of having to go back to my parents and tell the truth. That since moving out at 18, all I’ve managed to do is… Move out at 18.
I didn’t want to of course, not because of him. I guess, in an as honest yet stupid way I can put it;
I didn’t want to appear weak.
As if by accepting this gesture, I’d be admitting I had “lost“.
Instead, I said:
Yeah, sure man, I’ll let ya know. *shrugs* Might not come to that, but thanks for the thought.
Some 8 months later, I finally moved in. Until I moved in, he lived alone in a fairly generously sized apartment. A week after moving in, his long term girlfriend moved down from the big city. A job that looked months away had suddenly become available.
Now, I am by all means happy for them, but I think it puts a very definite ticking clock on the whole “me living here” operation.
In terms of how comfortable do I feel, I’ll put it to you as humanly relatable as I can;
I have yet to take a shit in the three weeks I’ve lived there.
Don’t misunderstand, I am very much so making my daily deposits, just not there.
Instead, those happen at work. In one of the worst designed shitboxes I’ve ever had the misfortune to stumble upon.
I’m being brief here, I know that. It’s tough trying to reconcile that home isn’t “home” anymore.
The fourth step, only its not really a step because its a job.
And, as jobs I’ve had goes, it’s pretty cosy.
Again, I’d never been one to shirk more money, but the job itself keeps my brain busy enough without (and this is key) stressing me out. Thanks to the gig still having that new factor to it, I’m always asking questions and I’m still figuring things out.
Which keeps my mind on the job.
Ergo, it keeps my mind off other things.
At present, what more can I really ask for?
Yeah but no, if you want to pay me more, that would be much appreciated.
The job does come with one issue though.
Yes, I warned you it was coming, so here it is.
My formal review of the lavatory situation in this new office space.
Mother of the divine, they must have converted inventory spaces to make these… Abominations.
Picture if you WILL!
A thick, solid plank of wood, from which no air can escape. On it, a metallic handle, that if you apply a modicum of strength and dexterity, the handle will drop, allowing you to push this thick oaken mass open.
It’s a relatively heavy door, is what I’m saying. A heavy door with no lock, and no fathomable indication if what lays beyond is occupied or vacant.
On the other side of this burdensome portcullis is a second door.
To be more precise, a cubicle door.
With ample room above and below,
So that whomever anoints that porcelain throne,
Fills this choked hall with pungent fumes,
Catching a weary traveller, one seeking respite from the rigours of working life…
These toilets are toilets in name alone.
All too often have I headed to these death-traps and been met with the stench of a potters field, all thanks to those voluminous doors and their ability to deny air from escaping. Thusly, a poor wandering soul gets blasted by the fetid rectum breath of another.
A coffin, by any other name.
If there is a point here, I think it might be;
On those days when things feel “good”, you need to accept that they won’t always be that way. They just can’t. I’d give my life to be wrong on that, but it’s true.
They just can’t.
At the same time, we are all of us accountable for who we are when we are in doubt, or sad or afraid. When you can feel those blackened days coming, when the long drought is pending…
Since the Reboot, I have become the world’s most uncool shark.
If I stop moving, I die.
Some days, what we need is certainty. Some days, what we need is that boredom, that safe feeling. Right now, for me, safe is bad. I need uncertainty. Regardless of interest, I need “new”. Because “new” stops the autopilot from kicking in.
New keeps me active.
New keeps me busy.
New keeps me in the Present.
It keeps my eyes open.
I generally like to say schmaltzy things like I’m rooting for ya at this point.Today, I think its best I just say I’m rooting for me.
I intend to post more reg-