This is a substantially redacted version of a post I’ve been ranting out of my fingertips in the last 24 hours. I may – or may not, who can ever say? – add in some of the rest of the material in forthcoming posts. I’m posting this for the sake of that minuscule handful of people that follow this blog that do not share contact with me elsewhere; those that do will know most of this story. It’s not that interesting anyway; I merely have a penchant for verbosely stringing things out. Uninteresting or otherwise, the material detailed kind of represents A Big Deal in the life of the present author, and indeed of those around her (most notably The Man, but others too). Apparently it’s the kind of A Big Deal that should be all warm and fuzzy! Apparently I am A Very Bad Person for not instantaneously recognising this indisputable fact! Apparently moral relativism is a poor philosophical construct! Apparently a lot of the ranting I’ve removed from what follows might have been related to attitudes of that nature! Apparently I will stop being facetious anon and get to the point! Hasta luego, and beware of the dog, the dog being a plethora of swear words (yes, old-timers, I’m back to my old self. Apparently).
[Redacted: lengthy introductory bollocks and content notes about cursing, length and a general tendency to vituperate. None of those things have abated (well, the length has, but to the uninitiated it will still appear long), but it’s enough for you to know that they’re there; wanking on about them for five years isn’t a particularly efficient use of one’s time.]
Anyone that had been reading up to and including my last post will know that stuff was by and large okay. That must have been pretty frustrating for those of you that enjoyed the misanthropic, fuck-everything rants for which I’d become mildly famous in our little community – despite being psychologically well, it was in a sense for me too. Being a snide bellend who was incapable of doing anything other than bitching out 3,000 words on top an electronic page of potent hate seemed so much more intellectually satisfying than writing, “yeah, life’s not making me want to set a Death Star on this dump of a planet!” (or whatever shitty euphemism was used in the stead of such a phrase). Nevertheless, that bland nicey-nicey Nice positive existence continued for a bit after I last posted. My work with MindWise (still ongoing, sort of – I’ll explain sometime) was rather excellent. The training was (is) of a high quality; I’ve met some great people; I’ve been involved in some very interesting projects; I feel that I’ve helped a truly worthwhile organisation (even if only in a small way). That’s Nice, and I remain glad of it, despite the foregoing invective about Nice. There is a place for Nice; it’s just that Nice for Nice‘s sake is not particularly interesting.
That’s Exceedingly Interesting and Everything, But I Actually Have Things to Do Here. Continue reading →
I’ve been intending to write this for about two weeks, but simply couldn’t be arsed. Truthfully, I’m probably only being arsed today as I’m procrastinating – this, whilst an intended exercise, is in many ways an attempt at avoidance of putting a pitch together. Ideas surge through my brain cells like a bullets through air, but unfortunately those brain cells don’t send those same neural signals to my fingertips.
To be frank, money issues aside, I don’t care that much at the minute. Insofar as I believe in the concept – which is actually not very, but whatever – I’m quite happy at the minute. Such an admission must come as an utter shock to those of you that have known me in the long-term, particularly in the days before I started writing here and was blathering a constant stream of negativity via a typographical fog horn elsewhere. It comes as a shock to me, probably most of all. My absence from this blog is symptomatic of not being at the soul-suckingly low points of the past – it was rare for me to not blog for more than a few days back then. Now though, rather than writing about life…well, I am living it.
My grandfather was an achingly intelligent man who died at the age of 85 after a long period of medically-induced dementia. Nearly 15 years later, I still feel the effects of his death profoundly.
You wouldn’t have liked my grandfather – not if you occupy what is, in something of a misnomer*, known as the political left.
Despite the background he came from (he was a farmer), he was a product of his time. His views on social issues in particular are completely at odds with everything I hold dear today; gay rights, reproductive freedom, co-habitation, defence of the vulnerable and ill, the right not to be persecuted for not being religious, yadda blahdeblah.
You would not have liked him if you knew him only for these issues. Neither would I.
But despite this, had you chosen to celebrate his death, I would consider you to be beneath contempt. I don’t particularly give a fuck if he wasn’t the single most influential person in the United Kingdom during some formative years of his life or not. If he had been, his convictions – however misguided they may have appeared to you and I – would still have guided how he conducted the power afforded him.
Jane didn’t come to the session tonight. Apparently she phoned Robert’s boss during the week to complain, though she hasn’t spoke to him nor Ellie about what happened last week. The group has made it clear that if she doesn’t return, we’ll miss her – however, I think the cohesiveness and support present in tonight’s session made it clear that if she doesn’t, we’ll still do good work without her.
It may simply be that after last week’s nastiness, she simply needs a break, or it may be that she was so offended by things that she can never face any of us ever again. I hope it’s the former, but if the latter, I still believe that this group has, and will continue to have, a positive impact upon my life.
We’re nearly half way through the planned sessions of group therapy; last night was eight of the 20 we have allocated. It was also the first where there was something of a confrontation. Interestingly, it was the therapists that precipitated it.
It went something like this. There is one woman, let’s call her Jane, that has often done most of the talking, usually about one specific relationship that she’s been struggling with. This has frequently served as the basis for the other three of us to talk; perhaps we see in Jane’s relationship what we’ve seen in some of our own, perhaps we understand why she struggles as she does. Whatever, it doesn’t really matter – the main point is that she’s brought it up a lot, and that to use the parlance of the one bloke in the group (John, let’s say), the other three “bat off her.”