It’s Never A Good Time

There never does seem to be a right moment to blog. When I’m busy, it’s no good. When I’m not busy, I start to feel guilty about sitting idle, and then quickly manage to find something to do. When I’m angry – which happens a lot these days – I don’t feel right. When I’m depressed, I fear writing about it only makes things worse. When I’m happy (a precious rarity!), writing about it would distract me from the happiness, and probably only encourage me to overanalyse and forget why I’m meant to be happy.

What an introduction. I remember when I wrote my dissertation, which majored quite heavily on the role of blogging, I did a little background research, which found that the average blogger was a pretty depressed individual. It is a “melancholy medium”. It feels right to me. Confirmation bias, perhaps, but I think those of us who live lives of sweetness and light probably don’t have the right character to write all about it.

But right now, it’s not a good time. I’m generally feeling a bit sorry for myself because I have a cold which hasn’t even got the decency of being a real cold. I might be tempting fate here, but after three days of coughing and having that permanent “just about to sneeze” feeling behind my nose, I’m getting more than a little fed up. I keep wondering whether I’m at the end of it or just the beginning. If it would get worse, at least I would know it can only improve from here. But it just keeps being the same, for 3.5 days now. Irritating.

And life goes on, of course. Business has been generally shit this week. There’s something about the Easter holiday that makes everything go rubbish. I remember it being crap this time last year too. And the jobs I have had have all been irritating in their own special way. As well as harbouring a boatload of customers who waste my time and aren’t worth much.

I need them though. I have a love-hate relationship with my customers of late. All the good ones never come back. The bad ones just keep annoying me. There is one particular one at the moment who paid me double to come out on a Sunday to inspect their laptop. I quoted it, and said I’d have to take it away. They agreed. Every weekend since then, with this being the third, they have arranged and then cancelled my visit to return with the goods at the last minute. I know people aren’t like me, but I just can’t understand: you either want your computer fixing or you don’t. If they didn’t want it fixing, they shouldn’t have called me in the first place, let alone pay me extra for an unusual Sunday call out. All a bit weird, as I like to say.

Then there is the constant depression of being here. I am totally fed up of living with my housemate, but there is no escape. That definitely is never a good time.

But life in general is just never a good time either. I am sick and tired of waiting for good news. For years now, so many of them slipping away in front of me, I am in a perpetual state of “waiting for something good to happen”. The upshot really is that it never does happen, and even when it does, it makes you happy for 5 minutes, and then you start hoping for the next good thing to happen.

Honestly, life is utterly tedious. I have often wondered… I would love to have children, but then it is for purely selfish reasons. There is, actually, no good reason to bring another person into this world. A world of constant suffering, constant struggle, and increasing pressure to spend all your time slaved to the economy without ever really enjoying it.

No. Life has absolutely no purpose whatsoever. This suddenly dawned upon me the other day, when I was in one of my moods. It doesn’t matter if it has intrinsic “purpose” once you’re alive, whereby you can ascribe happiness, and love, and family, and other values to it, and pretend that they make it have some purpose.

There is no purpose at all. There is no extrinsic value to life even existing in the first place. It is a quirk of biology, a twist of fate (which doesn’t exist), and chromosomes, and DNA and other weird stuff that just so happened. It is all a nonsense really, an utter nonsense, and we pretend it all has some meaning, some value, and that we must enjoy it to make it worthwhile.

No. None of it means anything. In 1 billion years time, life will probably not exist anywhere in the universe. And yet the universe will still continue, pointessly, fruitlessly, counter-intuitively.

It’s never a good time around me, I can assure you of that.

 

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Cold

I don’t often get ill… I seem to get quite lucky with that. So to actually get ill – when I’m technically on holiday from work – pissed me off a bit.

It was only a cold, and a pretty mild one at that, and I’m now over it. By tomorrow all the symptoms will be gone. At one point I was having to blow my nose every 10 minutes. Ridiculous, and painful. My nose is still sore.

It got me wondering where I got it from. I can only assume it began from a rather farcical attempt at work on Friday 23rd. I got up at 5am, allegedly on my way to a job that is some distance away. It was to be my last job before Christmas.

It didn’t work out that way. I hung around at my departure station for an hour before calling it a day. I knew there was a problem as soon as I arrived, because there was drunken people everywhere from the previous night. They’d been trying to board trains since the first one at 5:30am, but had been unable to due to signal problems.

I guess I must have picked up a bug during this time. Public places and public transport in general are always a danger for this kind of thing. It only takes one inconsiderate person not to cover their mouth when sneezing and the cold virus is released into the air. It’s a nasty thought really – because to catch a cold you have to get someone else’s mucus into your nose or your eye.

I gave up after an hour and decided to go home. I probably shouldn’t have done because it now looks next to impossible to get a refund on my train ticket. Train companies are a joke. I spent the rest of the day trying to find out the refund policy because I’d dared to pay with card. While I was at the station they were handing out refunds left, right and centre. In cash, of course. But they wouldn’t to me. I had forms. It was a joke. I got nowhere, sent from one person to another, no one wanting to admit liability. Fuck them all.

If I’d just got on the train at 6:45am like I was supposed to, maybe I’d have got away from the nasty bugs, and also done some work, and also earned some money, and also not cost me an extra train ticket. Boo.

I don’t actually think it was possible for me to get a bug from anywhere else either. Over Christmas (which was good, and is still going on in my head!) I didn’t see anyone but the usual suspects, none of whom are ill. The symptoms appeared on Dec 25 in the night – which would leave two days or so incubation. About right…

Anyway, that’s enough moaning. I’ve had a very relaxing few days, including playing Mario on the Wii, and enormous amounts of playing on the piano and the guitar. Social life is shit, but at least there is the family to annoy.

New Year… all that analysis and joy to come.

 

Brass Monkeys

In the past week or so, it’s suddenly become rather cold. I hasten to use the word “very” in front of cold, because in truth we Brits don’t really know what “cold” means; suffice it to say that anything around zero degrees Celsius is not good. I would never survive in Canada, the north of the USA or Russia, for example. So let’s just say that it’s too cold for me.

My tolerance for cold seems to have waned with every passing year. I don’t know whether that’s because these days I seem to be lighter than ever. My current weight is 65kg, and while I’m not underweight, I am moving towards the bottom end of the BMI scale. I don’t really know why this should be. I seem to be eating about the same amount of stuff I always have done. I do a little bit more exercise than I used to, but I wouldn’t have thought it was making me lose weight. I really ought to patent my diet, because to me it’s 80% junk, 20% good with only mild exercise and yet the kilos are disappearing…

But because of my low weight, and presumably low body fat, I am feeling the cold more than I’ve ever done. I can’t bear to be outside in the cold. On Tuesday I was outside helping with my team’s football training, and the wind and the driving rain would have been enough to make a grown man weep. Well, I nearly did. But it was just so horrific that I don’t think I’ve ever felt so bad in my life.

The situation is now being exacerbated by the fact that I am essentially sleeping outside. My new bedroom, the converted loft space, is, to put it bluntly, fucking freezing. I took a thermometer up there and at the moment daytime room temperature doesn’t go above 12°C. At night, it drops to 8°C. I have been assured that there is insulation in the loft, both below the floor, in the roof, and the windows are double glazed, but there is a ferocious draught that brings in the outside cold air with consumate ease. Let this serve as a warning to others wanting to get their lofts converted – you’re exposed to the weather on more than one side, unlike a normal room, the draughts are ridiculous, and in order to keep the room warm you need to have the central heating or other electric/gas heater on constantly. Meanwhile, in the summer, the heat is outrageous.

Basically, it’s uninhabitable right now. Even with serious jumpers on. I haven’t switched my computer on up there since Monday, so I’m doing all my computer use downstairs where there is at least some degree of warmth. All I’m doing up there at the moment is using it for sleep. Which is bad enough. Even a thick duvet doesn’t keep the cold out. I wake up several times a night at the moment shivering with cold. I think I’m going to have to get an electric blanket, and some more blankets in general.

But do you know what the worst thing about all this is?

It’s not even winter yet.