Tag: Reflections

56

I’ve been gamed.

Or rather, I’m gaming myself.

I’m fully aware this is happening, and yet I’m actually enjoying letting my behaviour be dictated by the simplest of mechanisms, a number displayed on a screen.

The premise is simple enough, the higher the number the better.

I started at about 44 and slowly rose, week after week until it hit 55.3. It peaked there for a while and then crept up further, plateauing at 55.5.

I thought that would be it, and if I’m honest I almost accepted it for a while. 55.5 would be the highest it would go and there wasn’t much else I could do if I wanted to influence it.

Except that’s not true.

With such systems it’s always possible to eek a little more from the working set of parameters, adapting in finer and finer increments until you get a perceptible gain.

It’s been a long time but in the past couple of weeks 55.7 was reached, then 55.9 was touched, all too briefly. The last week saw the number fluctuate, 55.8, 55.9, 55.8, 55.9.

Such torment!

And then, finally, on Sunday the display read 56!

I know I’ve been gaming myself, using the number to adjust things, changing this and that to keep it rising higher and higher. I could probably keep going but at some point there must come a balance and I’m happy enough with things as they are.

Yes, 56 is a good number. I’m happy with 56.

10 years

I’ve had a personal website for over 11 years, the earliest posts from that are in the archives here in a category titled B.B. (Before Blog). Each page was handcrafted and typically it would take twice as long to get the post online as it took the write it in the first place.

Then, along came Blogger. A way to publish at the push of a button and, on this day 10 years ago, I did just that.

Since then a lot has changed. Which seems very obvious to say but it’s only when you sit back and think on the events of the past 10 years that I realise how different I am to the person that wrote those first blog posts.

I certainly didn’t think I’d still be writing here and whilst the quality and frequency remains very boom and bust, I don’t see me stopping. Writing, for me, is a very cathartic experience and has gotten me (and is getting me) through some very difficult times in my life; the death of my Gran, and of my mother-in-law, the stress of house moves, new jobs, and the joy of marriages and the times spent with my dearest friends. It’s also getting me through the end of my (almost) 13 year marriage but those scribbles will remain private.

I blog about my professional life and I use a blog as somewhere to store my random faffings with words and sentences.

I’ve meet many wonderful, smart, intelligent and funny people through blogging, and consider them friends. There are a few I’ve still to meet, and with the advent of Twitter I’m finding more and more people with similar views, similar outlooks and that wonderful mix of interests that so many bloggers share with many of us having similar tastes in art, music, design, religion, food, and politics. Thankfully we retain enough differences for a little friction as well.

To everyone who has visited here over the years, thank you. Thank you for your comments, for your kind thoughts and emails, for your advice and general willingness to share.

And thank you to you, my silly little blog. I probably owe you more than I realise.

There are many things about me I don’t share on this blog, many moments I keep for myself, or to protect the privacy of others (and, let’s be frank, to save my Mother any blushes), but there remains a lot of who I am wrapped up in 4, 793 posts that this blog contains. You may not always see the best of me, but that’s not the point.

A long time ago I received an email from a complete stranger. They had read something on my blog, something I’d written as a way for me to understand a not so pleasant period of my life, and they thanked me for writing it, for helping them realise they weren’t the only person in the world to go through what they were going through.

To those people who don’t understand blogging, don’t understand why someone would do it, why someone would share themselves with complete strangers I refer you to that email, to that one point of contact with a stranger which helped them. Maybe it didn’t make a huge difference, but life is so much about those moments of stillness, moments of beauty, the things that turn black to grey.

So I’ll continue to blog, continue to write about things that interest me, things that capture my attention, things which I want to capture and take things from there. If I’ve learned anything at all in the past 10 years (and some would say that’s doubtful), it’s that it no-one has all the answers and sometimes there aren’t any answers at all. Only life.

And as cheesy as it is, I’m going to end with a quote from my favourite movie as, when it boils down to it there really is only one choice to make.

Get busy living, or get busy dying.

I’m choosing the former.

Changing the balance

We are still waiting on someone buying our house and, until that happens, there ain’t much else I can do but ponder the future and what shape my life will take when we go our separate ways.

I think the biggest adjustment for me will be going home to an empty flat. I’m viewing that as an opportunity to refocus my priorities and change my habits, but one thing is sure, I’ll need to be a lot better at keeping in touch with my friends, as well as getting out there and making more.

I’ll be joining a gym, but I’ve never found those particularly friendly places, and I’ve looked at evening classes which might be fun, but one thing that really caught my eye whilst I was doing some research on “holidays for singles” (as in, going on holiday on your own, not going on holiday to get drunk with a lot of other people who are single and “desperate for love/a shag”) was an organisation called Spice Scotland.

Now, I know what you are thinking and no, it’s not a dating website. They describe themselves as an Adventure, Sports and Social Group which caters for single people who don’t want to sit at home. They organise everything from Skiiing holidays to tennis lessons, and seem to have a good active membership.

It’s not something I’ll be jumping into headfirst, for a start I need to shift some weight (again!) and will need a few months to get settled into my own routine and adjust to my new life but it’s good to know there are options out there and that being single isn’t JUST about sitting about in your undercrackers eating Jaffa Cakes.

Rose tinted

It’s funny, I always considered myself a pessimist, and whilst I certainly employ large doses of cynic it seems that I have a far more romantic view of the world than I realised.

Maybe romantic isn’t the right word, let me put it another way. I day dream. A lot.

I think that’s one part of being a human that I enjoy the most, aside from custard creams and other things I can’t mention here because my mother reads this and her head would spin, and to be honest so would yours. Well not YOU, obviously, but the rest of you would probably be quite shocked. Hmmm this is sounding worse than it should. Ok ok, so I also enjoy eating bourbons. There. I said it. Phew. Feels good to say it out loud to be honest, and at least I wasn’t admitting to anything too deviant like, purely for example, my shoe fetish…

Where the hell was I?

Oh yes, it’s good to be a human being because, as well as enjoy the styling and drama a 4″ stiletto brings to the party, I can spend time imagining how things may be in the future. Lazy Sundays with a good book in hand, holidays spent in exotic  lands, an entire weekend only watching Hitchcock movies, a day spent relearning how to canoe. That kind of thing.

And the REALLY good bit about being a human being is that it doesn’t need to be just a daydream. I can make it happen, hell I can make anything happen if I put my mind to it.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to imagine up an ice cream van….

Too hot, too cold, just right

I plonk myself down on the sofa.

“Nope, not squishy enough”

I plonk myself down on another sofa.

“Ugh, too firm”

I don’t plonk myself down on that sofa.

“What a horrid shade of puce, looks like a Ribena berry has puked all over it”

I plonk myself down on another sofa.

“Ohh this is nice but the padding on the arms is rubbish”

I don’t plonk myself down on another sofa.

“Who the hell would have that in their living room?!”

I don’t plonk myself down on another sofa.

“Or that, has it come from the set of the Sweeney or something?”

I don’t plonk myself down on another sofa.

“Seriously, who designed these? Blind giraffes?”

Several hours and many shops later.

I plonk myself down on another sofa.

“Ohh, this is just right!”

I sit for a while, luxuriating in the perfect harmony of style, comfort and texture. I run my hands over the smooth leather, let my head rest on the cushions and imagine myself at home, cold beer in one hand, a favourite movie on the TV. Oh yes, I think. This will do just fine.

I look at the price*.

I get up and plonk myself down on another sofa.

Too early

I AM WITHOUT LIE-IN, AND I AM ANNOYED!

It’s really not fair you know, the least we could get is a warming or quiet word to let us know it’s gonna happen but noooooooooooooo.

One day I’m perfectly able to sleep until 10am on a Saturday morning, the next and I’m lucky if it’s 8am.

I’m sure this is an ‘age’ thing.

With apologies to my olde wiser readers, whilst these things may be common knowledge to you (and if it is, could you PLEASE update the life user manual please, ta) it’s a recent discovery for me, and not really a pleasant one.

Along with the realisation that the hairs growing in my ears are longer than those on my head, this new desire to be awake before 8am at the weekend seems unnatural, unfair and entirely pointless.

Can’t I revoke this, or at least appeal on the grounds of IT’SNOTFAIR?

Worst still is that this newly found desire is worsened by the intake of alcohol. A couple of weeks ago, after one too many (or three too many, I lost count after the first Jägerbomb) I awoke, and please bear in mind this is after getting to bed at around 1.30am and that I was very drunk, not only before 8am but before 7am!

In that instance I can only conclude that my brain had been enjoy my drunken state so much it decided, after all about 4.5 hours sleep, that I should wake up again.

Seriously. What the fuck?

In saying that, it does mean that I’m starting to develop a very nice mid-afternoon napping habit…