I live on my own.
Well, I have a cat.
I don't expect sympathy, it's my choice and some of the time this life of solitude is cosy and even fun. I get to walk around bollock naked; have a crap with the bathroom door open; break wind with gleeful abandon** and play my TV/ stereo/ PS3 as loud as I fucking well like.
I've recently realised that this life of little responsibility (pay the bills, buy cat food, pay the rent, buy petrol) is a dialled back version of a real life.
For the past 10 day my Dad has been staying with me. He retired out to
Crete in about 1997 and doesn't like
coming back to England.
The last time was for my Passing Out Parade from the UK Police in 2007. He only
came back to sort out his bank account as Nat West have the irritating habit of
freezing it every so often, due to him using it while abroad. Even though the
silly sods have his Crete address for correspondence
(not to mention his Greek phone number).
But I digress...
Dad was here for over a week and we had some fun. Most of the time we did very little. Sat and watched telly or went shopping. Couple of times we went out for drinks or a meal with my friends and got some of Dad's art displayed at the local gallery.
Point is that for once in a long time I felt like I had something to do more than simply stay alive.
About 2 and a half years ago I was dumped by my ex girlfriend-bitch-cunt-money-grabbing-whore-bag. I defaulted from a life of feeling top of the world and wanting to get married and have kids to going to work (I'm a postman, well paid for what it is, but at least 4 hours a day of that can sharpen your pain threshold during an English winter), coming home, eating, maybe exercising and wasting my time.
I dialled my life back to zero. I rarely had sex, I rarely got drunk. I even rarely socialised. My job is part time which means I have enough money to pay bills, save a bit and just maybe go out. I have to be careful.
External influences or even aspects of a life that would be fundamental to a properly nurtured soul, were things I either couldn't be arsed to strive for, or gave up on owning.
Dad staying here meant I had something to look forward to when I came home. I was hanging out with my old man, who at the age of **CENSORED THROUGH FEAR OF GETTING MY HEAD KICKED IN** is still good company and can drink me under the table any day.
It even seemed a bit "weird" to be doing other stuff rather than playing Candy Crush Saga, spending hours on Facebook, binge watching Sons of Anarchy or masturbating over You Porn videos.
Bottom line was that I was actually enjoying myself, unconditionally.
When you dial your emotions back to zero you accept that life will be full of the mundane static hiss of abject boredom, punctuated by moments of brief distraction like the sun peeping through a gash in the grey February sky. You don't expect to feel good, you don't expect to have fun. You accept boredom, despair and monotony as your daily bread because trying is just too heartbreaking.
I had another book published last week and have so far had quite a bit of interest from people around the area. I have a book signing at Demoncon 8 this Sunday. I have the official book launch at Zou Bisou cafe in Leamington Spa the Sunday after. A shop in town has offered to stock it and I've been asked to do a creative writing workshop at a girls' school in
My isn't so much brimming over and I've rinsed out the dried tea stains, washed and dried it and am standing next to the tap while it fills.
Living a life at zero is safe. It's also mind numbingly fucking dull.
Maybe I should be like that guy in Spinal Tap?
Naaa, maybe not.
Time to step out of the shadows of self pity.
People tell me I take things to heart.
No shit Sherlock!!!!
** Sometimes on the cat's head.