Shit shit shit

A couple of months ago, I received a phone call from a girl who was obviously very distressed. I asked her name, and she told me 3 times, but I never 'got' it. By then, I thought that I couldn't ask again, so might figure it out during the conversation. She told me about somebody dying, and didn't know what to do. The call was international, so I couldn't collect the number, or even figure out which country it came from. After 30 minutes, I was still none-the-wiser, so tried to console her as best I could, but really didn't know what to do.

For the following couple of weeks, I tried to find out where this call had come from to no avail. It was a strange situation to say the least. No-body seemed to know.

I have just found out, and I am gutted. It was a friend from Monaco. His daughter phoned. We never spent enough time together, but I really enjoyed his company, and respected him greatly. I had always assumed we would get to spend more time together in the future, after all we've got plenty of time (?), so had made ethereal plans to return to Monaco and was hoping he would visit here. He was only 52 - and I still don't know what happened.

Now what to do... have e-mailed to his daughter - we are in regular contact, but as I was unaware of the situation I never referred to it; when considering who it was that called, I struck them off quite early as I thought him too young, and never saw a message to imply this situation on her social network updates. It must be so difficult for her, and I want to offer any support I can. A bit late now. I feel really useless.

God bless you Chris, you were a fine man. Bon voyage my dear friend.

Nothing couple of days

Sitting in the apartment, listening to the builders drilling or whatever it is they're up to. Will go and inspect in a bit, but it makes no difference.

Again, the feelings of fight or flight come to mind. A friend from Belarus has plenty of trades, some could make money. However, I am unwilling to follow them up here, as the people I deal with on the ground cannot be relied on. Pretty much everything I ever ask is ignored, so without support I'm just some guy in the city with no language. Why should I even open a deal to them? Just a waste of breath.

Spending too much time browsing social networking sites. There's a horrific 'car crash' quality to watching how people play out their lives through these sites. Two friends have just had a public argument over the course of a couple of hours. Fortunately, they saw sense and deleted the comments before the night was over. I have been known to look back through my past comments and remove a few from time to time. Not really necessary, as who would be interested enough to trawl through them. Having said that... I have myself done that through peoples' statuses in the past. Kind of a guilty pleasure; ex-girlfriends, girls I fancy (or once fancied) and enemies are the favourite objects of this cyber-voyeurism. Don't do it so often, as it feels like a sin. How many people do it now though?

Mixed feelings about UK. There are some lovely people there, whom I miss very much. Unfortunately there are also a lot of complete wankers, people who I don't care whether they live or die, so long as I never have to see them again. They abound, and that reason alone is enough to keep me away from there.

Maybe if I bought a place in another county, nearby but far enough to be out of sight, and left people in UK thinking I'm still abroad. Hmmm. Or would it only be a matter of time before even the new neighbours became just the same. I need somewhere with land, and a decent pub nearby. Possibly on an island.

The stalker phoned and texted yesterday, trying to arrange a meeting. I did not respond. She pissed me off by gatecrashing on Saturday, then wandering around my apartment as if SHE were the hostess. On 4 occasions when I was talking with a girl, she butted in to talk with her until I walked away. The final time I was trying to set up Bluetooth with a chap to pass a file, and I just put my hand in front of her face and carried on talking. I had had enough of this simple rudeness. When I emptied my washing machine, her sister insisted on helping me, even though I told her not to. I like to do my own clothes, it's another form of therapy. While she did this, she kept telling me how I needed a woman about the place to help me with all this. I was polite but firm. I told her sister I had a girlfriend, and she seemed surprised. Of course she was 'cos the stalker has been telling people we were an item. I had to explain to 2 other girls on Saturday that I am not involved with her - both of them were amazed. Then, when I decided I wanted to go to bed, she offered to kick everybody out of the apartment. Sure she wanted to do this - to demonstrate that it was hers. I refused her kind offer, and made sure she was NOT the last to leave. When I commented about the mimes on Facebook, she had to add her own comment, publicly to demonstrate her involvement. I deleted my original comment, so her reply vanished too.

No further word from the one I do want. Maybe she'll appear unannounced and surprise me. Or e-mail me from Los Angeles and surprise me. Whatever she does, she will surprise me. Just so long as she doesn't disappear. Please don't disappear.

Gone

Well she went on Wednesday night; the longest we've been apart since we met, and it hurts already. She's let me know she arrived OK, but I doubt she'll get much chance to communicate over the next few weeks. She's modelling, so it's a busy time, and all her model mates from back-in-the-day will be there. She did say she'll be back next month, and her return date seemed to get closer as she neared departure. Just before she went, she said she was worried about leaving me alone... how would I look after myself? Again, very sweet in a disparaging way!
Now all that is left is to worry whether her head will be turned by somebody more glamorous, successful, good-looking and exciting than me. Or perhaps she will decide that the whole jet-set lifestyle she has enjoyed is superficial - she always seems so happy relaxing on my sofa, wearing my old clothes, just the two of us. This could be a crucial point in our 'relationship' or whatever term you would use for the communication line between us. I don't want to pester her - she will be so busy, and I'd never want to appear like some form of albatross - but I think of her constantly. It drives me crazy. Ho hum, what will be will be. I don't think I've ever punched above my weight so much in my life. These feted 'supermodels' were always so inaccessible as to be stratospheric, so falling into something so intense with one is actually very stressful. Insecurity rages as I wonder how long it will be before she wakes up and realises how un-special I really am, then wonders why she spends so much time with me.
Thing is, I never really saw her as 'good looking'; I just thoroughly enjoyed being around her, and we moved so quickly from our initial meeting to a situation where we pretty much blocked everybody out of our communication (6 hours from first meeting). Since then, we have jointly let people in. So I guess she must find it refreshing that I love her for her, rather than her looks, glamour etc. Whether that will be underlined or sidelined during our time apart remains to be seen. Have e-mailed her today - nothing in particular to say, but just desperately wanted to communicate with her. Do not want to make her feel bad or worried about me; it is so important to support her in whatever she does, and it may be that the idea of having little, insignificant me, waiting at home with a cup of tea might give her an antidote to her other life - a secure escape if you like.

Had a lot of mimes in my apartment last night:

That's me taking the picture in the mirror. Don't ask.

They were in my hallway and both bathrooms. I didn't expect it when I went out last night, but life sometimes deals you a strange situation, whilst making it almost seem commonplace. I photographed them as I doubted friends would actually believe me. However, when I posted a comment on Facebook (before adding the pix), it was surprising how many people commented that it was a perfectly natural type of thing to happen to me - they believed me completely and required no proof.

So Saturday was interesting.

"What can I do? I'm addicted to this creature."
A bizarre, but interesting appraisal by her talking about me to a friend.
Kind of complimentary, kind of insulting, but very sincere.
It was very unusual today, listening with her chatting as she effortlessly switches languages, but now I really do understand what she's talking about 80% of the time, and am comfortable and secure enough with the other 20%. In general, I know what she's on about, if not always the fine details. And she's on my side.
As our visitor whispered to me 'Now THAT'S support', in quite respectful tones, as she outlined one of my situations, and her aims for improving it.
She does support. She does care. And the opening line really does sum it up.
Will try to sleep now. Will come back and pester your eyes in a bit.

এই বিষ্ঠা

If you want to have me, you've really got to want me. But then you will get everything.

That sounded really 'zen' when conjured up, and it became urgent to get it down. Thoughts turned to a few minutes break from picture sifting and 'work writing' to therapy. Here cometh self-indulgence. Alas, password had become forgotten and regular faves weren't coming up. Couple with confusion as to e-mail account etc etc, logging in became hopelessly bewildering. Then when the password reset came, going to a higher security level of a particular fave, was informed that it couldn't accept the same password again. By the time I'd figured that out, I was almost too exhausted to write anything. And had kind of forgotten why I'd even torn myself away from work.

Anyway, here now... so where are we? Last night proudly sported my new haircut at a rather lovely classical instrument concert. In an old palace on Kopernyka. One of the most beautiful, ornate and proportioned buildings I have ever see. The rooms are astounding; to sit in one of them listening to a flawless series of performances was sublime. Grub was good too. Phone set to record audio, got pretty much the lot. After trough, wandered out into the front of the Palace. there was a book fair closing, and managed to nab a couple of books in English. 2 Jungle Books and a book by Saki, to be precise. They were brand new and I am well chuffed. The Saki is a new-read for me, but I've read some of his stuff, and know some of his favourite characters. There's usually some fresh laugh-out-loud buried in there.

Saturday the city has been lovely. Met friends in the square, then strolled to a bar we'd heard of a few days ago. An English bar... called 'Liverpool'. Had previously met a Scouse chap here, but only once, and can't remember if he was resident. Anyway, the bar was supposed to be owned by a Scouser, so 3 of us Brits went along, with another phoning to try and meet us there. Have searched for this fucking bar twice already. Anyway we found it, in daylight, with a tiny little sign. Tried the door, locked. Bear in mind EVERY bar in the city is open on a sunny Saturday afternoon. One of us knocked and somebody came to the door saying they don't open until tomorrow. We tried to peep in, but no Scouser, just a London Underground sign. Nice enough place, but we had kind of assumed that it might have had some Liverpool colours, or Cavern Club detail etc etc. Not just an iron sign over the door saying 'Liverpool'. And how come you don't open until tomorrow, if we 4 have heard about you all week? Or is this another game? 'cos there is a game. Learning to read other languages helps you discover that. Do we use google translate? For everything? It makes it perfectly possible for someone to plagiarise from the almost any source, google translate it and publish. The original owner would never even know unless it was directly translated back. And who's going to do that?

Doubt I'll go there again, unless totally on the spur of the moment.

Spoke to her twice - 1 call each. She's out of town and don't like to disturb. Was disturbed by the stalker. Turned up in the fucking restaurant. Sitting right fucking behind me. Received a text from her saying 'what a coincidence' about 2 minutes before she walked in. The last remaining Brit spotted her and reported. I didn't turn round - sat by the band so it was noisy, and ignored my phone. Eventually she came over and I was all surprised. Informal, but not inviting in any way. She went back to her table and we left 15 minutes later, stopping to say 'Good Bye'. We were polite, but sent a clear message. Please go away. After the weekend 'do' will cut all communication.
There's somebody else it's far more important to build up communication with. Thoughts are close to continuous, and can have a down feeling when she's away. 'Who's she with?' 'What do they do?', all the jealousies and fears that are not normally me, and to be honest none of my business. Just because I love her, it doesn't mean that I own her. Will just have to see how truly she loves me. I don't think they say it lightly over here, and she did say it, unbidden. Wonder what future things she will proffer unbidden. I offer all, but expect all in return. but can that seem negative and stifling? Oh a ligature! Wonder how this typeface will treat the f and l of 'stifling'?
How facile to be so suddenly distracted when pouring out your heart. Grow up boy.
Maybe still best on my own.
Funny how you see such parallels in lives though, different people going through the same stages at different levels.
Tired now.

Well another couple of weird ones. Been into the office a couple of times today. Have to make arrangements for trip to Poland. Car still vanished, but promised back today. Anyway, 2nd visit, the girls were in the kitchen, eating and chatting - one girl had just returned from holiday. Sit down and eat, chat a bit with them and take some time to try to figure them out better. (KEYS)

Naturally many things I'd asked for, one has to push in a certain way, or it is never done. All was very very friendly, and we talked more than we ever had... Nipped to office to see Acc, and the guv'nor calls. When I passed the opening chit-chat and went into my office progress, it all became rather noisy, and the connection was lost. I should really have shouted at them, and will do if it happens again. (quick nip downstairs)

However on this visit, all is sweet and I am being taken for a haircut. Would rather she took me, but today's visit was kind of curtailed. She seemed more distant. Not unhappy with the magazine pic and even took 2 copies to show, but in some ways a mini-step back. We watched a bit of Austin Powers 2, and I saw a lot of the parody in myself and my own 'naff' behaviour, coupled with such a blatant lack of understanding of what a woman wants. It occurred that she might see the same in me. Oh no... will I have to plan even movies so carefully?

Reg v Coss. Funny this as I am reading the language now. When in an office on the phone, I noticed a staff circular, written in Ukrainian, regarding an apartment property. I don't know a lot of the words, but recognised the names, numbers and street addresses. The apartment in question is in a block that I know. It is not the same apartment, but there are not many in the building. The stalker lives in it. I visited once, but since have coincidentally walked past it, as it is on a route I have habitually used. I am not getting involved.

Is this a salvo?

In fact, come to think of it, when discussing the circular with the person on the end of the phone (who the circular was from), that was when the staff swang into action, on phones and printers. A few copies of the letter coming out of the laserprinter disrupted my conversation with him about the letter. How mad is that? Hopefully something will be done.

Downstairs again.

Car still missing - maybe next week? How can I plan if I cannot depend on things that normal situations would take for granted?

Anyway, here's a picture:

Standard school English language textbook from 20 years ago. Communication is better nowadays, but ludicrous games are still being played, across all levels.

Will leave you with that.

Hauntings and Hurricanes

Just tidied up and sitting at the table. Where to begin? No real idea what to write - as hurridly getting to a position where I.

Oh, there's another loud bang. Now they are taking the piss. Not scared though. (2 minute break) Not for myself anyway.

Ahem... getting into a position where I could give this blogging thing an uninterrupted piece of time and get into the habit of writing and noting things. Problem is, whilst doing those tasks, the mind burns with ideas, but by the time you are at the launchpad, advancing years tend to make you forget them. Don't think it's a medical condition yet though... I'm just too easily distracted.

I said it today. Actually said it. I meant it too.

Funny, now I know that my experiment to publicise this yielded the expected result, it is even easier to be open. What will be will be. Having sent a couple of tweets to 'celebrities' asking them for a retweet, I waited 12 hours or so then deleted the requests. I briefly alluded to it on facebook - having soooooo many 'facebook friends' but went no further. That did offer a few people the opportunity to get here -"find the key!"  - that's what was exhorted by an inside friend overseas. I didn't realise he was being both cryptic and direct at the same time. Enjoyed that, thanks.

Got rid of the comb. Broke it in half and threw it in the bin. Will empty the bins at an undisclosed destination after dark. That's dealt with that then.

First item moved back in. Very welcome. Would like something alive.

Which is where we come to Caspar... The roof spooked me a little as heights have never been my thing. Looking down is OK, but looking up can be dizzying. Unless with a telescopic sight. Anyway, I am rather pale and thin, (will never have a fat ass) and tend to spook around the building at night. Rarely seen to be eating, and not really having much effect on what goes around in the real world. I know my chicken.

Have other writings to do later, and pix to move about. At least this exercise DOES provide some motivation and a kick-start to a block of activity. Quality time is so vital - how often do you spend doing exactly as you wish, without any form of obligation involved. So many times one 'ought' to go to some form of regulated entertainment, we all fall victim to the concept of 'quality time' before a screen. Are we heading to complete 24-hour on-line status communication? It's already possible with close friends to figure out their movements, sleeping and work habits from their on-line status. And their GPS location too. Couple with 'street view' and anybody could be anywhere and next to you.

Sorry, but I want the physical communication for it to be real.

Where did that come from? First impulse was to delete it immediately, but I only delete a few characters on principle. Not just because they don't sound right, or the grammer is incorre

Shit another distraction. Delivery of the magazine... Run downstairs - a cigarette by the car, and a glimpse at the contentious article. Shit. Not as I sent it. Shit. Photos different, but at least not as bad as first draft. Photo of us... Shit. And we look like a wedding couple. What to do? Phoned to warn her immediately. She'd seen the picture in the proofs and commented "That one... out!" for that reason. She doesn't want to see the magazine now, but better had before I show it to her friends. Or do I? Must show it to her - they'll see it anyway, since it is about their place. I really wanted to do something nicer for them. They are lovely, friendly and warm people, and I certainly didn't want to put any form of pressure on her. But I said it. Had been long debating the response to my saying it, as have had several warnings about going in that direction, but on leaving tonight, she actually said it to me, enabling a truly heart-felt response that came so naturally... as if I'd already said it to her a thousand times.

I'm not saying it to anybody else. Will read the rest of the magazine, and get back to you in a bit.

Gunshots and Limiting the Personal Pronoun

Just found a picture of myself wearing a fez.

No particular reason, but thought it worth airing.

Will firstly expand on the clattering last night. Initially I'd thought it was the builders, as they often work late. We have a central well in the building, and it is difficult to discern where noise is coming from. Didn't recognise the voices, and had already spotted a stranger in the building, so I took a large knife and went for a walk.
The main stairwell lights were off, and the landing lightswitch on the ground floor. Firstly I checked the top floor, and found an unlocked door into an area being renovated. Downstairs to switch the lights on, and back up to see if I could find anything in the dark top floor. the stairwell lights threw a dim glow into part of it.

Nothing to see, so after checking all doors from the stairwell, and listening intently, it was apparent that the noise was not from here.

Back to the apartment, do some work (and writing).

A gunshot and some shouting very close. Nothing to see, but then it occurs... who would you call? Who could you call? I don't even know the phone number for the police, and only speak English here. There was no sense of personal threat, but it got me thinking.

The second shot was at 3.30am. Woke me up. Nearly called, but again, to wake someone up when not directly threatened is not fair. Why have somebody else worry. It made me realise which one out of all these peripheral numbers stored in my phone is my true emergency number though. Who is yours? And whose are you?

Now trying not to use the word 'I' in writing. Obviously this blog is still completely ego-centric, but would prefer it to be about musings on life rather than pure self-indulgence. Or at least look that way.

Cat Amongst the Pigeons

Now there's a dare. Is it ever possible to resist the flame? Never wanted anybody to read this blog, but then on impulse ask 2 celebrities I follow if they would mind retweeting my blog address. Wonder whether they will? Wonder whether people will click on it and read this very paragraph. Or even the blog? Fantasy again, but an experiment. Apologies in advance if you do read on; it was never intended for consumption, but the demon made me do it...

Ky jelly and free tram tickets

Just done some 'proper' work. By that I mean stuff that earns me sustenance and a minor role in life here. One never knows where anything is leading here, but it is so helpful to get some words down. This writing will not earn me money, but it will keep me sane and help me deal with all the shit I have to. And on my own. Will this become a substitute for a partner? I truly hope not. There is the most wonderful woman I love with all my heart, but I am certain I fucked it up. I could never rationalise a relationship, and so have to pine alone for a while, all the time trying to think if I could in any way salvage or will just have to accept wait a few years until the feelings subside. Will they subside if she's still often around? Other times I've fallen in love (5 in total, well I AM nearly 44 and unmarried), some have faded with distance and time, some have still hurt. But if always around... can that ever let it fade?

Not sure what the locals think of me. I received a business SMS, urging me to check my e-mail. The message was 'Ky! Ky! Ky!'. What the fuck does that mean? This person has before sent me an urgent nudge to check my e-mail, but Ky! All it brings to mind is Ky Jelly, which has never been a part of my life. Is she implying that I am a crafty butcher, preferring my meat delivered around the back? I'm not going to fuck her to prove otherwise. I'm not fucking anybody at the moment, and to be frank have little interest. I've done enough of that over the years; the next one will be with my ring on her finger. Have I any chance? I do hope this doesn't mean I will stay celibate for the rest of my days. I don't need sex. I need sexual intimacy, that comes from complete communication at all levels - many levels that only 2 people can communicate at. Intimate sexual union is the most personal form of communication.

So who's the spy? Everybody is pretending to be nowadays. Again, interesting to watch. Currently snatching episodes of the original 'Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy'. Read it had been re-made so thought I'd re-watch the original. I was about 10 when it was first aired, and remembered enjoying it, but not a jot of the story. The only thing that came crashing back was the choirboy singing over the end titles. Never was involved in the church to be a choirboy. Was in Primary School choir for a couple of years, belting out Hans Christian Anderson tracks. I remember the song "There are so many wonderful far-away places to see" (That's the opening line, but not necessarily the title), and all the listings of exotic places ("Tokyo and Cairo and Lisbon and London; wonderful fabulous places we're longing to see!"). Have ticked a few off now, but not enough. Have to earn some cash to tick some more off. Hmmmm how to do that, and still earn?

Dream of Fantasy... become a writer! And submit one's works via the internet! How many have had that idea? Could I make this blog interesting enough to attach 35 million billion readers? And travel everywhere with internet access, keyboard and credit card? Wow! Well a man can dream. However I will sign up for that advertising thingy where they put an advert on your blog and you get a payment every time somebody visits your blog page. Even with only me visiting, over time I might earn enough for a tram ticket across town.

I could ask my Mum to follow it too; ideally I want a yacht.

September, cooling down, but still mosquitoes on the prowl. Had my eye on one a minute ago, but as soon as I clocked it, it started doing all those fancy aerobatics and moving across different shaded backgrounds. Bastard. It knew I'd clocked it. Ready with insect spray just in case it chances a leg.

Pissing around with twitter. Followed a few celebs and even 'tweeted' at them, but sometimes it doesn't sit right responding to a remark from someone you don't know, who kinda' wasn't speaking to you. The strict word count takes a little getting used to, as what can you put that is self-explanatory and interesting in that few characters, unless you tweet to...

Aha, just splatted the mosquito! Didn't even need the spray, so no smell and no cost! People hate mosquitoes, when you ask them what they think of them, they can rally forth with hatred and vitriol but: what does the mosquito think of us?

Food.

Nothing more, nothing less. How humbling is that?

Won't fit that on twitter. Now then Facebook, and vkontakte for that matter. Noticing friends deleting their accounts, and would myself, but have to keep some admin rights for a couple of groups so no way of logging in if I do. Maybe I could create a phantom account and give myself privileges... Don't know though as it is so nice to have a means of informal contact with friends. Status updates can make tedious reading though. And people who play their whole relationships and arguments out on-line! Have in the past put a few things on that were really too personal to share, but normally only a single significant party could truly understand them. It was almost like a dare, but I have been caught. From now on it will only be truly obscure shit. And as only I read this, perhaps only I will have a clue what they mean. Or you, dear reader, and contributor to my idle yachting fantasies. Unfortunately the marina is more than a tram-ride away.

The start of a prayer

Think boy think! Try to figure it out the pattern of shoutings and possible incidents that come with the rain. Before was completely silent, and as they clatter and row, with lights on and off are actually taking the piss. For sure it is paranoia, but it interesting to observe when it is only a passing phase. Witnessing your own egotistical issues from both inside and out. Hopefully this can help lead to a situation and try, oh please help me try, to be a decent, honest and reasonable human being; as close as ideal as possible, whilst satisfying basic human existence needs, passing on genes and experience, enjoying life and hurting no-one...

Shit shit shit. There I go again. At least it's not gossip. Certifiable maniac? Sorry again, mind sometimes seems to go into trips far too fast for my humble typewriting speed. A friend was the son of a famous UK poet (one that my poor education never made me aware of until after meeting them, and being told, thought I'd better do some research!). Anyway, digression over, his father used to sketch his work in pencil, crossing bits out and so forth (missing out the troublesome and frankly rather unsatisfying full-stop after etc.). Ha! What's this shit about writing about grammar that makes one need to use it so carefully? Can one grammatically correctly reproduce a tome-length monologue whilst keeping perfectly verbal with emphasis and stress without suddenly becoming a lo-fi gaudy magazine?

Funnily that puts me in frame of work. Good thing... I do have a lot to do and a lot to consider in the next few months. "I'll judge but I'm not getting involved".

Boots on, weapon in pocket, I'm off to take a look.

Ciao for now.

Right back from that little episode. Car's not here, excursion in building, yet more time to consider existence before jumping to the keyboard - to be frank, there is other work I must do, but the safety-inspection was kind of work, and all this must come out. Surely anyway, it's all practising communication. (Spell-check goes when thinking as I write). What can I say to her? And off we digress.....

Slurp of the vodka & orange and we'll call it a new paragraph. Or chapter. Or book. I guess each time a blog auto-saves it creates another possible image somewhere of a work part-completed. Which is where I was trying to go with the Sassoon opener so far ago. I wasn't trying to name-drop, honest.

Name-dropping... now there a whole kettle-of-fish. It's kind of fun, harmless bragging if you like, but also can have hidden purposes. Continuous bullshit name-dropping is horrendously boring - a trait the egotistical paranoiac in me horrendously recognises. I have exaggerated often, but never to the point of bullshit. You would be surprised how many people in strange places have experienced first-hand corroboration of anecdotes widely-reported to be outright fantasy. I do however try to keep it under control, and never use it to take the piss. Taking the piss is always light-hearted with no injury dreamt.

Think I may have fucked something very special up. Still getting such mixed signals. No not even going there with this, my un-read, partially secret blog. Can one really put one's inner thoughts about love and relationships on something that could be discovered by anybody? I have fucked something very special up.

Anecdote

A friend has a garage. He had a set of wheels which he wanted to get rid of. He put them at the side of the road, with a notice saying "4 Free wheels & tyres, help yourself" or suchlike - don't remember the exact wording.
They sat outside for a month, so his son suggested amending the sign to "4 wheels & tyres, £20".
They vanished that night.

Only connect

Just had dinner with two fabulous girls, young, beautiful, intelligent - dear friends, but so difficult to communicate today. Wasn't really into eating, even though haven't really eaten all day. Stomach may have shrunk. Back home now - is this not heading towards idle minutiae? Point was the inability to connect, even with close friends. Thank God this outlet exists, otherwise the frustration would be complete. Wonder if I'll start drawing, painting etc. I guess the problem is being unable to keep a conversation lightweight and flippant, when so much is pressing down, but not really wanting to burden friends with anything too intense.
At least with this I can talk and say what is exactly on my mind without interruption or embarrassment. This is my outlet and I'll say what I want, when I want; well it can always be deleted. Or if I do ever have a child, perhaps one day they might read it and get an idea of the type of person I was. My father keeps a diary, but I always felt it crossed a line to hunt it down and read it. A blog could be a little like that, but not so personal. After all it IS in the public domain; all one needs to do is know where to look. How (supposing somebody else is reading this) did you find it? Bet I didn't tell you!

First attempt

Well having had a go at Twitter, and managed a few words, it is maybe time to put one of these blogs together. no idea what to write, as so much of it is stream of consciousness, but gotta start somewhere.
Firstly an introduction: I am 43 years old, male and from near Manchester. Currently living in Lviv, Ukraine, but have lived in a few places. Will try not to bore you with history and anecdotes, unless they are relevant. The past is the past.
Trying desperately to understand the means of communication here. Have no language, but in some ways that makes understanding communication easier; much in the vein of a blind person, who develops enhanced sensory perception (hearing, touch, smell) to counter the loss of sight (try discerning Braille with your fingertips!), in not being able to understand the spoken conversations, the viewer concentrates on the underlying communication - what is really being said. Wish that were the case in regular communication.
Not here to talk about work. It may be referred to by incident, but not selling anything, or trying to show how good or bad or important or whatever. It is not a pissing contest.
Guess the real reason for writing is to find a place to put down thoughts - never been a philosopher, more a counsellor. And don't like to talk about myself too much with other people - don't want to be a bore.
I guess that here I can talk about myself with impunity. No-body currently knows this blog is here and that may continue for a while. Also, I'm not that important or ground-breaking for anything I write to be too sensitive, or matter in any way. Nobody has to read this blog - it is choice, so no apologies for being egocentric.
Making friends is becoming tricky here. Language barriers and common preconceptions of Westerners have to be dealt with. There is also the interminable issue of what people really want from you, and what they can/will genuinely offer in return. Cynical? Well after all this is about me. What do I get out of it? Unfortunately, it seems I have spent far too much time in the past helping other people without ever thinking what is in it for me. This has allowed people to gamble with my time and energy, sometimes until it became apparent we were flogging a dead horse. So therefore, it is time to do stuff for myself. Including writing for myself.
It's not just a case of starting to recognise and learn the game, but whether or not you want to play it, and again, what's in it for you if you do. There's been too many rainbows; now I really need to think. This is part of my therapy - and hopefully will stop me chasing more rainbows and finding something more solid in my life.
I have never married. That is a shame, and I fear I may never be in a position to raise my own children. This could become the great tragedy of my life. But how to deal with it? I could not just 'make a deal' with someone - there has to be something really there. Someone to share a complete life with, but what have I to offer? What security can I offer to a partner or child? I miss having that team-mate so terribly - but perhaps I never will find someone with the patience and practicality to deal with me. I'm not easy.
Anyone can be a busy fool. I have been that so many times, and yet it is also far too easy to procrastinate when there's no consequence on deciding 'yes' or 'no'. Just what IS important?
Please stop and think about that.
And in creating what you need, you hit the morality issues. Unfortunately my own morality is far higher than it should be for my life situation. At the bottom, when you are starving and homeless, your moral code is different - you will do many things for food and money that you wouldn't do if well fed, and content. Stealing for example.  It changes according to a situation, but how low can it go? What would you do to get what you want? Or need?
Sorry about the diatribe. At least only I am reading it.

xxx Gotta try and love myself.