DON'T GET SICK...DON'T GET OLD?

Never a truer word said methinks.  Sometimes my life revolves around Jim's lyrics way to much.  It's a failing on my part or perhaps not? He is a genius and many a time i've considered that he was actually thinking of me, personally, before putting pen to his Tesco Value notebook.

Today i've been thinking about how refreshing it would be to have an actual friend.  I used to have lots back in the day but no more.  Someone to talk to would be nice just once in a while.  To complain to, to mull over the minutae of everyday comings and goings.  What's going on in the world, what's on TV, the new Dollyrots album whatever?

I often wonder what's happened to them all?  Most have lives , have all done the 'normal' thing, went off, got married and had children.  I didn't unfortunately.  Although i was close, once, a long time ago. It happens and it's always the one who's left behind that suffers.

So, what is there to do about it?  Not an awful lot.  I don't get invited to things any longer.  Even if i did i probably wouldn't go.  Spending an evening in a room full of couples is not my idea of fun.  But it does hurt.  I'm safe in the knowledge that if the situation was reversed i wouldn't desert them.  I'd do my best to at least make something of an effort even once in a while.  It's not difficult to pick up the phone....is it?

There comes a time when the reality kicks in, you reach the grand old age of 48 and recognise that this is actually it?  The way it's going to be?  Recently someone told me that the way to cope is to convince yourself that the way your life is was your choice.  Why any sane person would choose this is another matter but it, kind of, makes sense.

Who knows?  In the meantime i'll have a quick chat with the Degu's.  They never judge.

Hello...good evening...welcome and goodbye?

One of the latest ideas from my Shrink is that i should look in the mirror every morning and then make a list of all the things i like about myself.  It's a pretty short list.

There's actually only so much a bloke can take until the elastic snaps.  Or only so many straws you can thrash a camel with before it's back breaks.  There's a point when you say 'no more' and actually mean it.
My latest bout of depression has been going on and steadily getting worse for the last few months.  It's always there, sometimes in the background but more often than not slap, bang, front and centre.

This time i've really tried.  Tried to find a way out of it.  Sought professional help and prepared myself for the actual horribleness of attempting to have an 'actual' life.  Prepared myself for the let downs, the hurts and the normal fucking awfulness of having to communicate with some fellow human beings. To being disappointed.  To feel the cruel twist of rejection and to experience, once again the very real pain of a broken heart.

Should have known better.  But then i never really do.

Enough is enough.  No more.  Bollocks to it.
It's just one kick in the balls after another and this balding, old punk has finally decided to throw the towel in.  I'm not going to force it any more.  Not going to go out.  Not going to speak unless i'm spoken to and sincerely doubt if i'm ever going to attempt to 'do the right thing' ever again. The only person i'm going to try and please is myself.
The good guys really do come last and fuck all comes to those who wait.

It's sort of refreshing in a bizarre sort of way.  The pressure is well and truly off now.  Not giving a fiddlers will be difficult but i'm determined to make it work.  My selfishness will know no bounds.  I can treat others as they treat me.  It might even be fun.

I'll continue to go to bed at night with the hope that morning doesn't come.  Continue to buy books ill never get around to reading, movies i'll never watch and games i'll never play until finally and mercifully oblivion comes.

But then again.  The football season starts again next Saturday.  The Crues away to Coleraine.
Maybe i'll go and see it?

My defeatist attitude?

As yet another day goes by without any direct communication with another member of the human race it got me to thinking.....
I wonder if i died tonight whilst asleep how long it would take before my body was found?  Would the Postman (or Postperson..i have a lady Postman!) wonder that my mail was stacking up?  Would my neighbours report a strange smell? The window cleaner might need paying?  Maybe stray dogs would gather out side my front door or hundreds of Blue bottles would be happily laying some eggs on my mortal remains?
All the possible scenarios might take a while....
I might even make the local newspapers.....'The body of a man was found etc. etc.' Instead of telling the truth  the neighbours and members of my so-called 'family' would all gather to say 'he was a quiet bloke.  Kept himself to himself'.  'How would we know.  we've ignored him for the last 30 years' would be more appropriate.
My Facebook and various Forum friends might wonder where i've gone if i'm away for a few days?  Who knows a lot of them might even be genuinely sorry.
So what would happen at my funeral?  Who would arrange it.  I haven't got a will so who would actually know that i want to be cremated and that i want my ashes spread on the terraces at Seaview, where i've spent some of my happiest hours?  Would anyone know that i want Kenickies Acetone played as my coffin went into the pyre.
Who would speak at the service?  Who would actually go?  What would they say?  Does anyone actually know anything about my life and how miserable it has been for the last 25 years or so?  How i go to bed every night not wanting to wake up in the morning.  How, sometimes i study the bottle of Seroxat and know that it would only take a few to do the job?  How sometimes the urge to pull my car into an uncoming truck is almost unbearable?  It's pretty unlikely, i would imagine.
Still out of the woodwork they would all come.  My coffin would be carried by some relative i hadn't seen in years.  Old work friends would gather and reminisce about the 'good old days' and i'd imagine that most would be sorry that they hadn't made more of an effort.  Someone might even put a notice in the newspaper, some might even see it, sigh for a few seconds before getting on with their lives.
My house would be cleared by some unknown stranger.  All my crap would be binned or taken to the nearest Charity shop.  Bob and Tailor would be put up for adoption in Pets at Home.  The house would be sold and someone would use the money to pay off my fairly substantial Credit Card debts and the rest would go to my next of kin.  No one would know that that my Stranglers collection is worth 10's of thousands of pounds and some one in the Cancer Research shop would have the luckiest day of their life.
My Minister often tells me that life is all part of God's plan.  That everyone has a purpose and that things are meant to be?  Someone up there is clearly having a laugh.
I wonder what my legacy would be?  How i'd be remembered?  What would people say when they thought about me?  He was in  band once?  He liked some foreign singer?  He watched the Crues?  He was good to his Mum?
Or maybe...just maybe i'm having a bad day?

ON INDIA

Ok then .....India has a Nuclear stockpile and a Space program. The UK is brankrupt.
If that is the case why do we give more money in foreign aid to India than any other Country?
And why is it when you question this you suddenly become a racist or a Nazi (or both)?