Weekly catch up

Wednesday morning, eight-oh-six, and here I am to catch up on the blogging I should have done on Monday – Tuesday at the latest – on a week already long gone. But blog I must.

The week was an interesting week: the first week of the year – and the first week after my massive outpouring of regret and tremors at time past. No sense of any of that though in the week – as though I was merely a dog shaking bits of leaves loose, getting rid of all trace of the swim in the river.

One day I decided to talk to Nicky and share stuff centred on feeling that in some way I’d had my balls cut off – a lot of which I first wrote about here. It felt good to share that stuff – she’s an excellent receiver – and in mere minutes the weight of several weeks was gone and I felt lighter and closer to her and it was all things from the past. Felt, I suppose, more manly too.

Then, a couple of days later she came home in a brand new Mini – a lease car through her work with the NHS – and I suddenly realised no way did I wear the trousers in this relationship. I looked around at our coldwater pad and our eighties gas fire that I loathe to put on – the expense! – and contemplated my income and my age and the dislikelihood of any improvement in those regards and I saw exactly where my ‘taking charge’ would lead us. Pah! And her in her sixteen-grand Mini and her twenty-six grand income and her smart and wise decisions and me just a buffoon.

Suddenly, I got very acquiescent and meekish and quietly hugged her and then got on with the washing up; told her she should decide everything; that I should be a stay-at-home dad and look after the baby and have her dinner on the table for her when she came home; take care of all the house things; do my silly typing but that’s all I’d ever be good for. Everything else was put into perspective – and especially my moaning that I’d had my balls cut off. Interesting timing.

Well, such is the lot of transitional man in the post-masculine world.

What else did we get up to? We did some stuff out in the garden – Nicky built a compost bin and three raised beds and I made a bench and a gate – and everything was built out of wood we found (the gate was made from an old pallet I dismantled). Very satisfying stuff and our little garden area is looking quite nice, considering what we have to work with. Especially proud of the gate, which transforms everything.

And then it’s the post-Christmas putting oneself back together. Bah, I loathe Christmas! Not Christmas so much in itself – Christmas was perfectly fine this year, as it generally is – but the way it gets in the way of everything. All goes on hold. And it takes weeks to get it back. Before Christmas I started a new book project and wrote twenty thousand words in three days – but then Christmas and New Year happened, which means Nicky was off work, and the university was shut, and typing long mad hours was impossible in our little basically one-room flat, and arrangements of going here and there took precedence, and all momentum was lost. I was flying and then I got grounded – and then I ate so much I couldn’t take off. But I will, of course. Except now uni’s back on and I’ve three deadlines this month and I suppose I’ll be turning my attention to that. Although I can’t say I’ve much interest.

Still, at least we’re back to reffing: first game of the year on the Sunday just gone. Home team said I was the best ref they’d had all season. Not, note, the best ref they’d had all year!

And so to bring it right back to where we started, thinking of years past and regrets and wasted time, etc. Funny thing happened both Saturday and Sunday morning, in that I woke up each day and immediately had thoughts of some event from years before and suddenly realised that I’d missed some opportunities there. Two days, two different memories – and neither of them things I’d ever contemplated before as opportunities let slip. But in those moments it was so clear – and that they had come out of nowhere, immediately upon wakening too.

Even funnier thing, however, is that I can only remember the first of them: can’t for the life of me recall the second, even though I’m sure it was something big. Further illumination in that: makes me think that all this looking back and dwelling on time imagined wasted and diving deep into memories of years ago is sort of like a psychic cleanse: a delve into the blocked drains of the mind and the dredging up of ancient gunk in order to clear the channels and dispose of it in the bright light of day. Vapid people say you should never have any regrets – but what do they know about the intricate machinations of the psyche? We have regrets, it’s only natural, and denying them is no way to move beyond them. Look at them, instead: investigate them deeply and turn them over in your hands until you’ve seen them for what they truly are. How can we let go of something unless we’ve taken hold of it in the first place?

Still, I’d love to know what that second one was! Just for the sake of my record keeping, you know.

Monday was a deadline day and I pretty much got it in on time. Woke up at five a.m. and tidied up my Towels script and then went to uni about nine and instead of cracking on with the thousand word critical commentary I merely found myself reading about football online and booking squash courts. Then it was eleven – an hour to go – and I thought I’d better get started. Didn’t have any doubt that I’d have it done before twelve but, in fact, I was wrong, and didn’t get done till half past. Oh well: I think they’ll let me off.

Then I played an hour and a half of squash. Then I was knackered and starving hungry – having only had a wee breakfast about eight hours before – so I raced to a chip shop and bought my first fish and chips in months. It was delicious. I ate it back up at uni and I yummed it up. Anyone walking past the postgrad room would have thought I was enjoying incredible sex. I said, oh baby, and, oh my God, I want you so much, you’re so good and fishy. Plus many other things besides. It was orgasmic.

Then I played another game of squash – luckily the guy was rubbish so he didn’t make me run around too much – and after that I was definitely beat. Sunday morning reffing followed by Sunday evening five-a-side requires, I believe I have discovered, a day of rest the following day. Although it really was wonderful to be so gloriously tired that all I could do was lie on the floor and flake: it’s a rare treat for me and my ever active brain.

Tuesday, instead, was catching up on rest day.

Now it’s Wednesday and I’ve done my weekly pondering and after refereeing blog I suppose I’ll move on from there. Been thinking about going out into the world and investigating, seeing if I can find any sign of life. I’m pretty sceptical about the possibility but you never know: if it’s there and the divine wants me to find it no doubt I will. Certainly, I do question my current existence of associating with practically no one except girlfriend and computer and occasional chats with a girl at uni, to whom I believe I say some interesting things, which is nice. In any case, it’s worth a shot: perhaps one day a week dedicated to non-solitude and the real world – how’s that sound?

Sounds like a nice idea, he says, but probably a real pants reality and, anyways, I really don’t think you could keep it up.

Heehee! You’re right – ya joker.

Love you,

Rory

PS In case you're starvingly desperate for some more of my words - anything's possible - here are a few more of last years musings that I didn't post at the time:

Thoughts on government | Thoughts on mother | Laptop smashing status update