Get that man a halibut!
Hello again. :P
So, three months on from taking in Olly and Nyx. How are things progressing? Well, with them. Olly has grown (he's now bigger than Ares), and from day one has been a constant source of mischief and shenanigans. Nothing can move within two feet of him without him being instantly aware and attacking it, and it doesn't matter *what* moves. Still, it's fun. Nyx is quieter, preferring a cuddle to a savaging. It's hard to believe she's the same cat who almost tore me to pieces in the church, it really is.
And then there's my Lucy. My beautiful, brave Lucy, who suddenly upped and died on me two weeks ago. No signs of illness or anything... I went to bed, and then ten minutes later she vomited, jumped up on the bed and howled, and promptly began dying. Myself and Mitch rushed her straight to the PDSA, but by that time... her circulation had already collapsed, so it was pointless trying to give her an injection. All we could do was sit and wait for her to pass, and bless her, she was terrified the whole time. Even after her voice gave out, and her breath, she was still trying to miaow. All she wanted in the world was to sit on my lap and feel safe, and I tried my best to comfort her. There's consolation in that, at least - I was there with her, holding her close until the very end. That was when I broke, almost literally. I've always maintained I'm not allowed to have a favourite cat, because they were all always like children for me... or at least, the closest I can expect to get to having children of my own. Lucy, though... she was special. At a year old, days away from giving birth, she was attacked and disembowelled by some dickheads and their dog, and she survived. She came back missing two feet of intestine, but as strong and determined as ever. And it was always Lucy who came to cuddle at night, and in the evenings. I was her safe place, it was me she looked to whenever she wanted food, or attention, or just a cuddle, or if there was a loud noise. I'm honoured to have been so loved. Earlier this week, I was sat in the living room and I just wished she was there to cuddle again... and for the first time, the thought didn't hurt. It was a bit saddening, yeah, but... it didn't hurt. It's thanks to the support of my amazing friends that I managed to carry on with life, quietly grieve, and just wait for time to stop the pain.
Speaking of pain, I was called back into Frets on Wednesday for the first time in several months. Dave had ordered a four-tonne skip, and of course it was my duty to clear the rubble and plaster from the shop. I filled the damned skip, fo-shizzle, and I did it all on my lonesome (the builder guys were busy making more mess for me to clean), but at a terrible price - a long, hot bath on Wednesday night didn't help, and I was awake until 6am because my shoulders and back were just too painful to sit or lie down comfortably. I was supposed to go back into Frets to help out, but... no. Every movement of my arms or shoulders - even now - sends spasms of pain across my back. I'm told (by a non-professional) that I've managed to trap some nerves, and... yeah. Ow. It further emphasises that I'm just falling apart... the other week, for reasons best known to itself, my body suddenly decided that I'm not allowed to cycle anymore, and every time I've tried since has involved painful hips and knees, and sometimes my back. At this rate, it's a wheelchair before I'm 30. I can see it happening.
I was also informed today that if my hips crumbled to dust tomorrow, the NHS would be more likely to put me in a wheelchair than do a hip replacement because in the vast majority of cases, old people get new hips and young people get put in a wheelchair. Now, maybe it's just me, but I'd do it the other way around. What's the point in putting someone in a wheelchair for thirty years while you wait for them to grow old and be eligible for the hip replacement? They'll suddenly - after thirty years - have to learn to walk all over again, and the body just will not be able to handle it. Apparently, you're only allowed two hip replacements (by NHS policy), so surely it would make more sense to just give the replacement hip to a young person rather than put them in a wheelchair, and tell them they'll get thirty years' use out of it if they look after it?
I dunno. Weird stuff.
Oooooh, in musical gossip, I've finally gotten good enough at the violin that I know where all my notes are - which is exactly the stage I wanted to be at before considering the ukulele, which I've now agreed to learn. I'm promised it's easy and all sorts of fun, and I'm sorta looking forward to it. This means the list of instruments I want just got bigger, and now comprises a ukulele, cello, double bass, bass guitar, grand piano, and pipe organ. Damnz. :P
On a related note, I picked up the sheet music for 'Good Enough', and have spent nowhere near enough time practicing it. The next big theme night at the Tims is this Tuesday, for Valentines Day, and I don't have a single song prepared, which is entirely my own fault. If I hammer at it, I might be able to get it down in time, but... well, we'll see. For some weird reason, too, I've been madly trying to learn 'Angels'. I've always disliked the song on principal because of Robbie Fucking Williams who oozes arrogance from every pore of his body, though when you remove him from the equation it's a really good song. I have no intention of ever singing it, and I'll probably never be asked to play it for anyone, but still. It's nice to be able to play songs for the sake of playing them, and no other reason.
I did ask Kriss if we could bust out 'Community Property' for Valentines, but... well, that won't be happening. I don't know why I even asked, because the last couple of times we've planned a song - or I've asked if he'd help with backing or something - it's gotten to the day before and he's backed out. I know he has his reasons, and not a single one of them is "Let's end Sputin's set early, shall we?" but it was still rather annoying. The Christmas song I'd been planning since something stupid like February, I finally managed to learn. I learned it, I practiced, I got good... and just when we were about to start practicing together, he backed out, which immediately knocked the second song we were gonna do, too. The worst about it is not being able to complain, because let's face it... I couldn't have forced him to play. It wouldn't have been fair, and it'd be completely selfish if I told him to forget his issues and get on with it. At the same time... it's not the only time. In the past six months we've planned a song, or songs, on a few occasions and only once has he actually gone through with it, and got up to play.
At the time, I thought "Great, there's my Christmas set fucked. I've just lost the backing for one song, and lost the other song completely."
And y'know what? It wasn't even the worst of it. Helga's sound lead flat-out refused to work, meaning that I was sat on stage like a lemon for two songs trying to get sound to happen and failing miserably. Then Danny jumped up and wouldn't you know it, she worked perfectly again. Before the night, I thought Kriss' backing out would ruin it. On the night, I'll admit, it didn't help my mood... but it was certainly the least of the issues. I don't know what I was expecting from the night, but being stood outside at 11pm, completely sober and wanting to go home, was not it.
But bah... less bitching. Clearly, if I wish to learn new songs to do, I simply can't rely on asking Kriss for help with backing, which limits me to songs that only use a piano, or that can be easily arranged for piano. It'd be pointless asking anyone else at the Tims for backing... I know a fair few people who would be more than happy to help, but it'd be a nightmare trying to sort out a practice or anything, so literally the first chance I'd get to run through it with someone would probably be just before getting on the stage. Can't see that ending well...
Still, I can't really complain. People have asked me to learn songs for backing purposes, and... I just don't get around to it, ever. I always end up distracted, or I forget, or I just plain don't bother or something. I should maybe try and do something about that...
That said, the only one I've been asked to learn at the moment is 'She', which is in Db, and so help me it's right up there as one of the most awkward key signatures I've ever had the misfortune to work with. Normally I don't have much trouble with different key signatures, but... hot damn, I just can't seem to make my fingers work properly for it. Perseverance, though. I'll get there in the end... maybe some six months after Bobby just ups and finds someone else to play it. :P
And now, finally, some interestings.
Now, as we all know, I'm no university graduate. I have a degree in nothing from the University of Nowhere, and it's probably going to stay that way. My knowledge of quantum physics is extremely limited. However, I have a theory that uses quantum physics to explain the soul. That means what, why, and how it is - and also includes religion, psychics, magic, and just how animals know there's going to be an earthquake. I'm not going to go into detail now, because it's late and I want to go to bed, but if it's something you think might interest you, keep an eye out in the next week or so.
Bear in mind I'm not trying to discredit any religion or religious beliefs... hopefully, I'll be able to explain why it's more sensible to believe in a God than not to.
...I was going to leave it there, I was really going to, but... no. I've been putting on this happy face, trying to pretend everything is fine and I can just carry on as normal, but... I don't want to anymore. I can keep going, I can keep smiling and go about my business and no-one would be any the wiser, but I don't *want* to. I want to just move away to a warm country where politics are irrelevant and the only decision you have to make is what vegetables to plant for next season's dinners.
I've failed my friends, let them down by not being there. Not helping. I've been thinking for some months now that it's a terrible shame I don't speak to most of my friends anywhere near as often as I used to, or even as much as decency says I should, and I'm ashamed of myself.
I can't get a job, so I can't clear the rent arrears and move out of this flat, so as much as I want to get the hell out of here I'm probably stuck with Mitch and his never-cleaned room for the rest of my days, with a goddamn tramp of an alcoholic in the flat below, the very existence of whom makes me angry.
Amadeus is running on parts that are ten years old, at the very least. This laptop has to be running on magic, because there's fuck all else holding it together. I own two keyboards, both of which were given to me for free and neither of which likes to work consistently. I can very rarely afford to pay the TV license or water bill, I can never afford enough food for myself or the cats...
I'm 25 years old and I have fuck all to show for it, fuck all I can sit and actually be proud of except making it this far without dying, and that's hardly worth it. For fuck's sake, I spent my 25th birthday sat in the flat quietly, in pain, with no intention of doing anything to celebrate and no money to do it with anyway. I can't keep going on like this, but what else can I do? The first step is to find a job, and between the Job Centre and A4E, I'm getting exactly zero help with it, despite both organisations constantly screaming about how they'll bend over backwards to help get you into work. Even if, by some minor miracle, I reach the interview stage for a job, I've got no goddamn references purely because my previous jobs have worked out like that.
I know for a fact that I could do any requested job in at least two-thirds of the businesses within two miles of me, and I could probably do it better than some of the folks who are at it now, and I'm stuck in this position because the days of taking someone at their word are long gone, and I don't have that fucking piece of paper to say I've got more common sense than a stone.
I'm tired of being told that because I'm unemployed, I'm a lazy good-for-nothing who just wants to sit on my arse all day and rape the system for all the free money I can. I'm tired of being told that by self-entitled dickheads who only have a job now because Daddy has some contacts in his middle-class job. I'm tired of being told that there's no excuse for not having a job because the work is out there by the same people who are cutting jobs everywhere they possibly can (which, by the way, is the BEST PLAN EVER to help lower unemployment! Creating jobs? Fuck that, there'll be less unemployed people if we take away another million people's jobs, right? Right?!). I'm tired of being told that opportunities are there, and that help is available, until you ask for it and it turns out the help IS available, but only if you either a) don't need it, or b) have no intention of ever asking for it.
Most of all, England, I am tired of you. For twenty five years I've been a proud and happy Englishman, proud of the heritage this country has. Proud of our monarchy, of our cities, of the wonderful people and sensible attitudes... but none of that is here anymore. There's nothing left to take pride in, and for the first time I seriously want to leave.
Gods help you, England. Gods help you, because I'm done with you.
So, three months on from taking in Olly and Nyx. How are things progressing? Well, with them. Olly has grown (he's now bigger than Ares), and from day one has been a constant source of mischief and shenanigans. Nothing can move within two feet of him without him being instantly aware and attacking it, and it doesn't matter *what* moves. Still, it's fun. Nyx is quieter, preferring a cuddle to a savaging. It's hard to believe she's the same cat who almost tore me to pieces in the church, it really is.
And then there's my Lucy. My beautiful, brave Lucy, who suddenly upped and died on me two weeks ago. No signs of illness or anything... I went to bed, and then ten minutes later she vomited, jumped up on the bed and howled, and promptly began dying. Myself and Mitch rushed her straight to the PDSA, but by that time... her circulation had already collapsed, so it was pointless trying to give her an injection. All we could do was sit and wait for her to pass, and bless her, she was terrified the whole time. Even after her voice gave out, and her breath, she was still trying to miaow. All she wanted in the world was to sit on my lap and feel safe, and I tried my best to comfort her. There's consolation in that, at least - I was there with her, holding her close until the very end. That was when I broke, almost literally. I've always maintained I'm not allowed to have a favourite cat, because they were all always like children for me... or at least, the closest I can expect to get to having children of my own. Lucy, though... she was special. At a year old, days away from giving birth, she was attacked and disembowelled by some dickheads and their dog, and she survived. She came back missing two feet of intestine, but as strong and determined as ever. And it was always Lucy who came to cuddle at night, and in the evenings. I was her safe place, it was me she looked to whenever she wanted food, or attention, or just a cuddle, or if there was a loud noise. I'm honoured to have been so loved. Earlier this week, I was sat in the living room and I just wished she was there to cuddle again... and for the first time, the thought didn't hurt. It was a bit saddening, yeah, but... it didn't hurt. It's thanks to the support of my amazing friends that I managed to carry on with life, quietly grieve, and just wait for time to stop the pain.
Speaking of pain, I was called back into Frets on Wednesday for the first time in several months. Dave had ordered a four-tonne skip, and of course it was my duty to clear the rubble and plaster from the shop. I filled the damned skip, fo-shizzle, and I did it all on my lonesome (the builder guys were busy making more mess for me to clean), but at a terrible price - a long, hot bath on Wednesday night didn't help, and I was awake until 6am because my shoulders and back were just too painful to sit or lie down comfortably. I was supposed to go back into Frets to help out, but... no. Every movement of my arms or shoulders - even now - sends spasms of pain across my back. I'm told (by a non-professional) that I've managed to trap some nerves, and... yeah. Ow. It further emphasises that I'm just falling apart... the other week, for reasons best known to itself, my body suddenly decided that I'm not allowed to cycle anymore, and every time I've tried since has involved painful hips and knees, and sometimes my back. At this rate, it's a wheelchair before I'm 30. I can see it happening.
I was also informed today that if my hips crumbled to dust tomorrow, the NHS would be more likely to put me in a wheelchair than do a hip replacement because in the vast majority of cases, old people get new hips and young people get put in a wheelchair. Now, maybe it's just me, but I'd do it the other way around. What's the point in putting someone in a wheelchair for thirty years while you wait for them to grow old and be eligible for the hip replacement? They'll suddenly - after thirty years - have to learn to walk all over again, and the body just will not be able to handle it. Apparently, you're only allowed two hip replacements (by NHS policy), so surely it would make more sense to just give the replacement hip to a young person rather than put them in a wheelchair, and tell them they'll get thirty years' use out of it if they look after it?
I dunno. Weird stuff.
Oooooh, in musical gossip, I've finally gotten good enough at the violin that I know where all my notes are - which is exactly the stage I wanted to be at before considering the ukulele, which I've now agreed to learn. I'm promised it's easy and all sorts of fun, and I'm sorta looking forward to it. This means the list of instruments I want just got bigger, and now comprises a ukulele, cello, double bass, bass guitar, grand piano, and pipe organ. Damnz. :P
On a related note, I picked up the sheet music for 'Good Enough', and have spent nowhere near enough time practicing it. The next big theme night at the Tims is this Tuesday, for Valentines Day, and I don't have a single song prepared, which is entirely my own fault. If I hammer at it, I might be able to get it down in time, but... well, we'll see. For some weird reason, too, I've been madly trying to learn 'Angels'. I've always disliked the song on principal because of Robbie Fucking Williams who oozes arrogance from every pore of his body, though when you remove him from the equation it's a really good song. I have no intention of ever singing it, and I'll probably never be asked to play it for anyone, but still. It's nice to be able to play songs for the sake of playing them, and no other reason.
I did ask Kriss if we could bust out 'Community Property' for Valentines, but... well, that won't be happening. I don't know why I even asked, because the last couple of times we've planned a song - or I've asked if he'd help with backing or something - it's gotten to the day before and he's backed out. I know he has his reasons, and not a single one of them is "Let's end Sputin's set early, shall we?" but it was still rather annoying. The Christmas song I'd been planning since something stupid like February, I finally managed to learn. I learned it, I practiced, I got good... and just when we were about to start practicing together, he backed out, which immediately knocked the second song we were gonna do, too. The worst about it is not being able to complain, because let's face it... I couldn't have forced him to play. It wouldn't have been fair, and it'd be completely selfish if I told him to forget his issues and get on with it. At the same time... it's not the only time. In the past six months we've planned a song, or songs, on a few occasions and only once has he actually gone through with it, and got up to play.
At the time, I thought "Great, there's my Christmas set fucked. I've just lost the backing for one song, and lost the other song completely."
And y'know what? It wasn't even the worst of it. Helga's sound lead flat-out refused to work, meaning that I was sat on stage like a lemon for two songs trying to get sound to happen and failing miserably. Then Danny jumped up and wouldn't you know it, she worked perfectly again. Before the night, I thought Kriss' backing out would ruin it. On the night, I'll admit, it didn't help my mood... but it was certainly the least of the issues. I don't know what I was expecting from the night, but being stood outside at 11pm, completely sober and wanting to go home, was not it.
But bah... less bitching. Clearly, if I wish to learn new songs to do, I simply can't rely on asking Kriss for help with backing, which limits me to songs that only use a piano, or that can be easily arranged for piano. It'd be pointless asking anyone else at the Tims for backing... I know a fair few people who would be more than happy to help, but it'd be a nightmare trying to sort out a practice or anything, so literally the first chance I'd get to run through it with someone would probably be just before getting on the stage. Can't see that ending well...
Still, I can't really complain. People have asked me to learn songs for backing purposes, and... I just don't get around to it, ever. I always end up distracted, or I forget, or I just plain don't bother or something. I should maybe try and do something about that...
That said, the only one I've been asked to learn at the moment is 'She', which is in Db, and so help me it's right up there as one of the most awkward key signatures I've ever had the misfortune to work with. Normally I don't have much trouble with different key signatures, but... hot damn, I just can't seem to make my fingers work properly for it. Perseverance, though. I'll get there in the end... maybe some six months after Bobby just ups and finds someone else to play it. :P
And now, finally, some interestings.
Now, as we all know, I'm no university graduate. I have a degree in nothing from the University of Nowhere, and it's probably going to stay that way. My knowledge of quantum physics is extremely limited. However, I have a theory that uses quantum physics to explain the soul. That means what, why, and how it is - and also includes religion, psychics, magic, and just how animals know there's going to be an earthquake. I'm not going to go into detail now, because it's late and I want to go to bed, but if it's something you think might interest you, keep an eye out in the next week or so.
Bear in mind I'm not trying to discredit any religion or religious beliefs... hopefully, I'll be able to explain why it's more sensible to believe in a God than not to.
...I was going to leave it there, I was really going to, but... no. I've been putting on this happy face, trying to pretend everything is fine and I can just carry on as normal, but... I don't want to anymore. I can keep going, I can keep smiling and go about my business and no-one would be any the wiser, but I don't *want* to. I want to just move away to a warm country where politics are irrelevant and the only decision you have to make is what vegetables to plant for next season's dinners.
I've failed my friends, let them down by not being there. Not helping. I've been thinking for some months now that it's a terrible shame I don't speak to most of my friends anywhere near as often as I used to, or even as much as decency says I should, and I'm ashamed of myself.
I can't get a job, so I can't clear the rent arrears and move out of this flat, so as much as I want to get the hell out of here I'm probably stuck with Mitch and his never-cleaned room for the rest of my days, with a goddamn tramp of an alcoholic in the flat below, the very existence of whom makes me angry.
Amadeus is running on parts that are ten years old, at the very least. This laptop has to be running on magic, because there's fuck all else holding it together. I own two keyboards, both of which were given to me for free and neither of which likes to work consistently. I can very rarely afford to pay the TV license or water bill, I can never afford enough food for myself or the cats...
I'm 25 years old and I have fuck all to show for it, fuck all I can sit and actually be proud of except making it this far without dying, and that's hardly worth it. For fuck's sake, I spent my 25th birthday sat in the flat quietly, in pain, with no intention of doing anything to celebrate and no money to do it with anyway. I can't keep going on like this, but what else can I do? The first step is to find a job, and between the Job Centre and A4E, I'm getting exactly zero help with it, despite both organisations constantly screaming about how they'll bend over backwards to help get you into work. Even if, by some minor miracle, I reach the interview stage for a job, I've got no goddamn references purely because my previous jobs have worked out like that.
I know for a fact that I could do any requested job in at least two-thirds of the businesses within two miles of me, and I could probably do it better than some of the folks who are at it now, and I'm stuck in this position because the days of taking someone at their word are long gone, and I don't have that fucking piece of paper to say I've got more common sense than a stone.
I'm tired of being told that because I'm unemployed, I'm a lazy good-for-nothing who just wants to sit on my arse all day and rape the system for all the free money I can. I'm tired of being told that by self-entitled dickheads who only have a job now because Daddy has some contacts in his middle-class job. I'm tired of being told that there's no excuse for not having a job because the work is out there by the same people who are cutting jobs everywhere they possibly can (which, by the way, is the BEST PLAN EVER to help lower unemployment! Creating jobs? Fuck that, there'll be less unemployed people if we take away another million people's jobs, right? Right?!). I'm tired of being told that opportunities are there, and that help is available, until you ask for it and it turns out the help IS available, but only if you either a) don't need it, or b) have no intention of ever asking for it.
Most of all, England, I am tired of you. For twenty five years I've been a proud and happy Englishman, proud of the heritage this country has. Proud of our monarchy, of our cities, of the wonderful people and sensible attitudes... but none of that is here anymore. There's nothing left to take pride in, and for the first time I seriously want to leave.
Gods help you, England. Gods help you, because I'm done with you.