clinging to the wreckage

A week survived. A week which started with a blissful day followed by one of the most strenuous working days in recent history. Upon that day a deep sense of disconnection set in within me once more and i started to wonder where I had gone so horribly wrong with all of the human bonds in my life. However, as Wednesday rolled around and the week unfurled, I discovered that there are still a string of people who care and actually find me interesting. And now, as Saturday has arrived, I feel like a king. I’m alone... a blissful alone. I sip a cup of coffee and listen to the rain tap against the window as I sit inside and enjoy the fact that I have no plans, nowhere I have to be, and no one asking me (or nagging me) to do things. I see the immense frustration of those who are in relationships and especially those with children who are disturbed by the rain because it means that they have to remain indoors with the family. There will come a time when I will be sick, or dying, alone and th

Dear mother, If I should die tonight, please know that there is no other way I could find happiness and that there is no other way I’d want it. Yes, people say ‘we could have helped him to recover from his illness.’ but I disagree. I think it is the people who want to hang around who are in fact ill. They want to live on and live on and struggle on. Why do we all do it endlessly until we die without dignity? Dear Mother, in this living world I have done all that I wanted to and now I am lost and so very tired. I’ve lived a good life but I have never belonged. Some have risen to the top in spite of not belonging but they have had the talent that I lack. And I have never had the will or desire to rise to the top. My only desire was to escape. To escape the endless competition. The meaningless machines grinding on and on until all is destroyed. Rest is what I need. I need a rest from all of the lies, all of the filthy hidden secrets, all of the things that most of us know all too

I awoke unable to determine where I was. I was on a bed, so I couldn’t be at my friend’s house where I always slept on the sofa... but this was an unfamiliar bed and an unfamiliar room. As my eyes adjusted and I was able to focus I realised that I was in fact at my friend’s house and recalled that, after vomiting, I had fallen asleep in the bedroom whilst the others were still drinking and talking in the living room. For some reason, they had not woken me but had, instead, slept on the sofa themselves. I got up and went to the toilet. I returned to the bed (I’d slept on top of it fully clothed) and a few moments later my friend and his girlfriend walked into the room and got into their bed next to me. I got up and went to the sofa where I lay down for a few minutes before having to race to the bathroom to throw up once more.                 At 08:30 my friend had to walk to the office to work the Saturday shift. I said I’d walk with him and as I got up to put my shoes on I had to r

The wind whistles through my newish windows and keeps me awake most of the night. This is a new development because up until this point they have done a great job of protecting me against the elements. After a night of drinking and then a very long walk home, being kept awake by whistling windows is the last thing that I wanted. Upon the aforementioned walk home I was kept entertained by messages being sent by a lovely lady who I wished could have been walking beside me rather than on the other side of faceless messages. Of course, the thought caused conflict within (as do most things) because she is not the one I truly want. The one I truly want waits in silence and spends her time now locked away with the family that she has started. Is it strange to say ‘start a family’? Like starting a car? Oh well, it is accepted descriptive convention, I suppose.                 So, after three hours of sleep or so, feeling like death itself, I get out of bed and feed my cats. I make a cup

Many of them walk down the street perpendicular to my house and, if I am gracious enough to have the curtains open, they are able to look through the window and see me sitting here at the computer. Some of them look at me as if curious to know what I am doing and merely walk past unaffected. Some of them look at me with an air of tragedy, the sense of sorrow showing on their faces for what they perceive to be a wasted life. Perhaps they empathise and are walking home to spend the rest of their weekend alone too, but I suspect that most are walking home to their partners. They think that doing so is not a waste of life. I believe that my time spent here at the keyboard is a thousand times more worthwhile than the time that they spend with their partners. This is how the world works; we all have our hopeless opinions. Never the less, to me, the thought of sitting in one’s house with one’s partner saying such trivial banalities as ‘we must trim that hedge tomorrow... it is starting to b

From the earliest age that I can remember I have kept a paper journal. I have always had a love of pens, pencils and paper. Journals fill the storage around my house, and my drawers overfloweth with the ageing things, but they are used less and less frequently these days because I realise that they will simply rot with me when I die. In fact, many of them appear to be rotting already. I’ve started to turn to blogs (gasp, sigh, shock, horror, weep) but these, as long as there is no global meltdown or zombie apocalypse, will still be floating around in cyber space (presumably) for years to come. Don’t get me wrong, the hand written journal is still a beautiful thing… nothing short of a truly passionate love affair, and it will always be a part of my life, but things have to change.                 Having said this, the problem with the blog is the very thing that makes it a positive – the fact that it can be read by anyone anywhere in the world at any time. The fear of disclosing per

Alone, at home, I drink and listen to music. Such an unacceptable act, if I am to believe the masses, this drinking at home. But they do not know the pleasure they miss out on. Being drunk at home, alone, is one of the more pleasurable acts of modern times. We are blessed with instant access to massive music libraries via the internet along with the ability to communicate with others through instant messaging and various websites. It does not make sense to be out in the night time. It is perfectly logical to be at home, sipping a soothing red wine, writing, and listening to music. Here the toilet is nearby, the fridge is close, and I am able to listen to the music that I like.                 Tonight I have probably consumed too much, for I am struggling to focus on the screen and the keyboard. I sit here wondering why it is that the others out there lead such boring lifestyles. Their lives are based upon marriage and children. It is a long weekend and I know that many of them will