All the thoughts (part one)

So let’s begin part one of our recap, which will begin about ten days ago on the Friday when I moved into my boss’s house to housesit while he went on vacation with his family. That was nice! Having a big ol’ place in the country to myself and finally a chance to chill and assimilate after all that Christianity and stuff. I thought I’d better get down and write it out, come up with ‘My Take On Christianity (or at least the fundamentalist young evangelical type)’ and then move on. So much learned! So many insights into the workings of those curious minds! But instead of getting down to that I thought I’d best have a lazy, relaxing weekend and do nothing.

I did nothing. I lounged around. I watched movies and the cricket. I clicked on inane things on the internet.

It was boring.

Monday (am)

Monday I go to work and the main thing I remember from that is an altercation with the police. I’d gone past one on a bike sitting in a line of traffic behind a bus and though the light was red it was a red light I knew well and I took it. To my casual glance the police person seemed both a) a small female and b) a Police Community Support Officer (PCSO) – in other words, not a real police person. In any case, the cops in Leeds don’t seem to care much about cyclists going through red lights, up on pavements, etc – I’ve done it quite a few times right in front of their cars and vans and never had any trouble – and so on I went zooming down the Headrow to base. And a little while after I pulled in this PCSO (male, older) pulled in after me and starts talking about going through “two red lights and across a pedestrian area.” I’m not sure how the conversation progresses but I guess I say something about it being totally safe and he says something about having to obey road safety rules and asks for me ID and mentions Anti-Social Behaviour – ASBOs! – and I think, hm, he’s not a real police officer, probably I don’t have to comply to any of this and go about my work. Then he starts shouting and being aggressive and I say, hey man, you’re freaking me out by being all aggressive, you haven’t shown me any ID, I’m outta here.

I grab some more deliveries from the lockup and listen to him go on a bit more – doesn’t make any attempt to stop me or lay a hand on me – and off I go.

But, of course, he follows me. And radios a van. And while I’m dropping off a parcel at the College of Music I hear these sirens and the engine of a speeding vehicle and sure enough they’ve gone to all that effort just for me.

Well, sure enough, I get stuck in the back of the van and lectured to. Any sense of normal discussion is out the window. It’s comply or make things worse. It’s the old, “I could have killed someone speeding here going through red lights and that would have been your fault.” So I quickly drop the protests and go into sadness mode. Dejected expression and almost tears in the eyes. I don’t want to get in trouble. I’m just a young boy. What will mummy think? I know I’m wrong and I won’t do it again. I’ve learned my lesson. I’m deeply sorry.

That seems to go down better.

About ten minutes I’m in the van. Sometimes the officer goes outside – he’s a tall assertive man – and chats with his colleague and the original PCSO. Hopefully they’re deciding that I look shit up and repentant and that’ll be enough. Name is checked and, obviously not being linked to American crime files, comes back with nothing. And after suggesting an apology’ll sort things out I’m allowed to go back about my day.

The game! The game! They threaten and you buckle and everyone gets what they want.

I am pretty heartfelt in my apology though: we’re each other humans at the end of the day, even while pretending to do battle with one another.

Don’t know why I was so against him: all he apparently wanted to do was offer some advice.

It was because he was talking about fines and ASBOs and I certainly didn’t want – nor feel I deserved – that.

So off I went.

I’ve always had a massive fear of getting into trouble and usually feel it’s best to flee than have to face up to the consequences.

Also, the idea of me not running red lights as I do my numerous bikings around this town is, frankly, impossible.

After

After I go back to work and I’m glum. That kind of thing’s bound to put a bummer on your day. I get to my usual thinkings about quitting this city and this job. It’s a sign, perhaps, that my time is up! And I know I couldn’t change.

 I give the waiting at reds a little go but it’s just not me and soon return to previous ways, except looking a little more carefully over my shoulders.

Now that a week has passed I’m more or less back to my gleeful old self.

I’m a safe biker, I really am – you only have to look at my record – but as anyone who’s ever tried to follow me will now, I care not for rules and really for only one thing: going as fast as I can.

That’s just me.

After after

But, anyways, it still did bum me out and play on my mind most of the day.

Monday (pm)

I went after work down my dad’s shop. I had a couple of hours to kill before refereeing the 6-a-side and I wanted to get some stuff put online for them. I got some keys and stayed after hours but – wow, all these people kept coming in and buying strings and things and it was actually quite busy and nice. Normally my dad has shut up shop by 4.30 ‘cos he’s so sick of the place and desperate to get out. His business partner stays till 5, but not really any later than that. They’re so old school and no longer interested in putting in the effort or the hours and it’s little wonder they’re failing. But there was plenty of business between 5 and 7.

And, anyways, that’s not the point – at ten past seven this girl knocks on the door and wants to buy some strings. She tells me they’re a band from California on a tour and they’re playing a few doors up the street. Says I should come. Comes back later and gives me a CD. And we chat for a moment or two and I do the thing that I always had done unto me, always thought I would do if I had a house and met foreign travellers and such and said, “do you have a place to stay tonight?”

They do, but it’s maybe not as good or spacious as mine for the seven of them. So I hand over digits and they say they’ll come. Six California girls and their one Englishman driver. And then I go check them out and they’re awesome. Like, really truly awesome. Like the best live music I’ve seen in years. I mean, I don’t even like live music but these guys are GREAT.

Tuesday (am)

Unfortunately, I’m still in boring Rory mode and thinking, hm, I’d rather take the last train home and be in bed while these guys are packing up than sitting around waiting and you know how little I like pubs and all that thing anyways so I don’t get to see the whole set nor really interact. And when I get home I’ve not heard nothin’ and I wonder if maybe they’ve lost my number or had a better offer or suddenly become all English and decided it’s impolite or too late to call and gone off to sleep in a field instead.

But, no, at two a.m. I get the call that they’re on their way, and at two thirty they arrive. They’re drunk and talking shite and I’m suddenly feeling just a little bit older and ruing the whole thing. It’s about four when I get to sleep but I sleep fitfully – ten minutes here and there – and then I get up before eight and think what’s what. Plan is to rouse them from their sleeps and send them on their way with some egg ‘n’ toast in their bellies. I’ve been out already to buy eggs from the house down the road – awesome eggs! only a quid for half a dozen! – and a coupla loaves of Burgens too. I wait a decent amount of time and then do the sad waking up thing, which I’d rather not do but…

Also, I’m thinking maybe they should just stay that night as well. They’ve three days off before their next gig in Leicester. They’ve been talking about just wanting a rest, a comfortable bed, a place to chill and put themselves back together.

I stir the first of them and fry the eggs and am enjoying taking care of them. Thinking about making that offer. Reluctant to, perhaps, because it’s not my house and that’s a fair bit of trust and…but then my boss’s wife had said, “have anyone you want to stay.” And think of all the times I’ve been taken care of.

Plus, they're ever so much nicer now that they're sober.

A coin gets tossed. The toss is heads.

“Listen,” I say…

What happened next

So I did the decent thing and sent them all back to bed, said, “here’s a set of keys” and pointed out one or two necessities before going off to work. And was the day ever-so-slightly different to the police-tinged day before, what with six lovely California girls waiting back at my house? You bet your ass it was.

How quickly the life can change…

Three days with six California girls (and their one Englishman driver)

Well, in any case, they were lovely. They buzzed around and chatted tons and talked about their hometown (Santa Barbara) and also loving nature in Zion and Joshua Tree and the California coast and you’d better believe my heart did weep for the lack of America in my life and my inability to go there (still banned till 2020, don’tcha know). And did it fire those breaking in dreams? And did it make me wonder what the fuck I was doing in concrete, heavy England? My empty life here sustained only by intermittent squash and refereeing. The people I feel so disconnected to. The weird English ways so characterised by repression and cynicism and uptightness glooming like a shadow in the light of young free positive happy Californian energy.

Man, I got me wound up! Their stories were great – but how it got me grrrring for the lack of it in my life. Christ, I’m so American in so many ways – did my formative years there – and really felt like I was away from my people, the people I’m ever searching for. The place where “everybody knows your name” (Cheers) and we can vibe all positive about the wonder of life and New Age this and that and really get into things. Such a departure from bricks and work! But…

Well, I don’t know what I’m saying. But the point is it really got me thinking. And got me longing. And got me planning again, as I have the last few years, for the trip in from Canada.

And did they discourage it? Did they hell. They were like, everything’ll be fine, you should do it!

Them with their Santa Barbara farmers’ market friends and hippy houses living four to a garage and just living for love and music and poetry. Beatnik souls I dream about and crave after. A community of brothers and sisters.

Well, fuck, what’s a boy to do?

And

And, in any case, I went off to work those three days and they hung around here and chilled. Went for little walks in quiet Yorkshire town and caught up on their sleep and laundry. Cooked big lavish California-style meals all healthy and extraordinary and good. Talked about British comedy they loved and let me introduce them to crazy Vic ‘n’ Bob – truly the kings – and laughed and said perfect things like, “it’s so insane!”

On the Wednesday I took them to swim in the river by Bolton Abbey. They dug it sincerely and stayed in longer than I did even though they couldn’t quite understand why the water was that colour. We made an impromptu fire on the little pebbly beach – so Californian! So Mexican! So 1998/99! – and chatted gleefully and everything was sweet, the life I’ve so much wanted to get back to.

Why do I find England and the English so boring? Why do I struggle to find those souls here? ‘Cos I bet they find ‘em.

Why am I committing to a life built around financial security leading to mortgages and solidity and – oh yes, an attempt to ward off those feelings provoked by this year’s earlier mid-life crisis.

Why not busting into America and being a vagabond once more?

I didn’t want to write all this here – this was just supposed to be me recapping the events and for the feelings and thoughts to be done later but – well, the fingers will type, won’t they? And what comes is what comes.

You get the drift.

Aftermath

I’ve got a lot to think about, decisions to be made. I talked about that last time but, man, that don’t even scratch the surface. My head has been swimming since those girls left. Everything was so fast when they were here – zooming off to work – cycling non-stop all day – zooming back here – and then the buzz of their company – that I didn’t really get to feel what their entrance in my life had done to me till they left. I missed them. I wished I’d got to know them more. And, yeah, sure, one of them “seduced me”, which probably played a part in it.

It’s four days since they left and things are settling down somewhat. But it was very much that vibe when I come out of a powerful Hollywood movie and have that hour or two of tears and wanting to change everything about my life to more match its message. Except this was a message I’ve been thinking about for a long time. Probably pretty much all my best friends are still in America/American/North America (ie, Canadian) and so much of my life is wrapped up in it. All my amazing times from my youth. All the things I hark back to and think and write about. And all those figures and places I’ve been innocently reading about since I was a wee boy who didn’t even know where America was: Hendrix and Monterey and Berkeley and Kerouac and Kesey and Alpert and Cassady and Leary; Woodstock and Be Here Now and The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test and On The Road; the Summer of Love and Big Sur and Esalon and The Dice Man; and all those hot springs and mountains and deserts; Route 66; and John Wayne and Clint Eastwood; cactuses and rattlesnakes; Boulder and Naropa and Buddhists and old John Milton; pretty much everything really.

Damn, you know I’d have been back there by now if I hadn’t got myself so stupidly banned.

And there’s the crux – for it’s right place and right time, why should silly (temporary) human laws get in the way? There’s certainly something about going with those and not bucking the system (spiritual justifications for it) – but then, think back to ’99 when I was an illegal immigrant anyways: did John Milton or Momma or Ammachi or God even ever have anything to say about that? Or did they just bless the whole thing and encourage me as a wandering soul who was living his life right?

So many thinkings, man. It really is reaching a head…

Thursday

Thursday they left. I gave a few goodbye hugs but most of them were sleeping. We’d had a bit of a late one watching Rocky Horror and some of us were later than others. In a word: man, I was beat! Felt like I was gonna start hallucinating at times on my bike. And the day was a full one – too full in fact, given that I’d double-booked myself for the afternoon – and that needed sorting out too. Supposed to have a counselling session at 3 – arranged back when I was despondent several months ago, all pretty much forgotten – and also referee many miles away at 4, rendering both an impossibility. I didn’t know which one to cancel. I got a bit stressed about it and wanted to forget the counselling and take the footy money and run but coin said ‘stick with it’ and I managed to get another ref to cover and I guess that worked out okay. The counselling was better than I thought it would be and maybe I learned one or two things. In any case, it’s never a bad thing getting to talk loads about yourself while someone sits prisoner opposite you (yet genuinely interested). Then I had to go straight off to Nicky’s and help her pack her stuff for moving to Ireland.

Did I tell you a coupla weeks back that she’d decided she wanted me back and wanted to make it work? Well…

I guess I’d given up on the idea though. I felt differently. I was over her.

I haven’t said anything about it to her but I guess I should.

I helped her load her van and then we said goodbye.

Life’s so crazy when you say such an easygoing goodbye to someone you used to live with and have made love with and have cried buckets over and gone half crazy over. Someone you once thought you wanted to marry. And then a few months down the line you’re waving ‘ta-ta’ and thinking more about what’s for tea that night.

You know what I mean.

The weekend

Friday I worked again and then arrived home to an email from the open-minded Christian lad I’ve mentioned a few times. Seems he’s coming on in leaps and bounds on his voyage of discovery, and not that I’ve consciously tried to ‘convert’ him, but much to my surprise it seems to have happened anyway. This has not gone down well with the guys I used to live with though; and the email he sent me was a series of emails between them regarding him and, to a lesser degree, myself. Much to my sadness they seem to have decided that I’m actually definitely in league with the devil after all and need praying for. The final justification of the Christian mind in the turmoil of cognitive dissonance: that the devil may perfectly fabricate the appearance of God in order to win souls, such is his cunning. That’s how some Christians find it perfectly justifiable to condemn Amma, Buddha, Gandhi, etc to hell. The whole thing is upsetting and sad: these are good boys with good hearts but some very strange ideas. And not that there’s anything wrong with having strange ideas – Lord knows we’ve all got them – but that I can see these rigidities of mind becoming more and more entrenched, and what will they be when they’re older, and how many others will they scare with their domineering beliefs? Or cast out, as they’re probably doing with this chap who at least has the guts to brave it, to go alone, and to truly seek the truth?

Strength in numbers. The pressure of the pack. The certainty of youth.

Indoctrination and fear and ego.

Man, it gets my heart going.

After pondering all that for a while and sending out my vibes I took the night to myself. Watched The Matrix in the bath and fell asleep before the end. Then on Saturday Laura came over and we went into Leeds so she could sing at Unity Day in Hyde Park. Unity Day’s like this fairly big free festival with lots of stages and music and things. Seemed like hell to me but who am I to judge? Just not my cup of tea, all that pot and beer and noise and – well – disunity. I kept myself sane by wandering around devil sticking and thinking things over and then leaving as soon as we could. Too sensitive for all that confusion; it gives me a headache. People’ll say I’m judgemental and superior, blah blah blah, but I reckon there’s more to it than that. It’s the vibrations, man. And if you understand, you understand and there’s no need to say more.

We chatted. She stayed Sunday night too. Some of the talk was about us and there was connection and realisations and movement. Feeling close to her again. But ever so torn in myself and in what I want from life. So many times lately I’ve passed pregnant women on my bike and felt genuinely repulsed by the sight. That’s a new one. Is it a sign of something? Babies, the same. But teenagers, I love. I’m good with teenagers. When people say, “do you want kids?” that’s what I think about.

But all the above, I really don’t know about for sure.

And, in any case, after feeling closer to Laura than I have for some time, and a lovely weekend – all that great comfort I’ve talked about, falling asleep on the couch and farting and giggling together, just not doing anything in particular – she had to go and spoil it all by asking when was the last time I slept with someone and getting all bent out of shape by the answer (the answer not even being the last time but the time before that).

But, man, it was ages ago! And I was single. And…and…and…

Well, in part there was relief. She says I’ll never change and she can’t trust me and I guess she’s right. Look at my urges, my thoughts.

I tell myself I don’t want to shoot myself in the foot by doing the stupid thing. But then what about the denial of one’s passions? I mean, I’m not talking about sex here, I’m talking about these vagabond desires and the desires for America and adventure. I tells you, the spirit of Cassady is strong in me. A bit more clean-living and less mental, maybe – and, therefore, less inspirational and fun and remembered – but in me nonetheless.

Can I shake it out? Should I shake it out? That’s what I always thought when I read of him – more his ex-wife’s ‘On The Road’ than Kerouac’s mythologizing – but maybe it really was just his (and my) nature and there was nothing he/I could do.

I guess that’s what I need to figure out. Poor old Neal! Shouldn’t he have just stayed working on the railroad and being a good man for Carolyn fathering his children instead of always seeking his kicks? I mean, look where he and Kerouac ended up. Dead and not just dead but sad and degenerate and destructive and not happy. Happiness is what it’s all about. I’m very happy but that’s because I’m happy inside. I’m also bored and crying out to be useful. I just don’t know the way. I want somebody to show me.

And I guess that’s the crux of this whole upcoming period: 37-years-old; opportunities to get settled and sorted; train to be a psychotherapist and/or run my dad’s shop and/or continue working in this job/refereeing; marry Laura and give her babies and live in the house she has the money to buy and build a life; make friends and influence people in small, quiet ways; grow old here in Yorkshire and one day look back – look upon my children – and hopefully say, that was the right decision – or…adventure, heart’s desire, growth and freedom and forgetting about money and security and fear; juggling devil sticks and meeting awesome people and digging nature; being in the sun; being alone and wild up mountains; loving beautiful women, however briefly, and writing.

I always said my dream job would be to go on adventures and write about them. At the end of my last trip I told myself I wanted to return to the Mexican hot springs canyon and stay there six months or a year with a woman and write a book about that. I get these ideas and then I just let them slide, for the pressure of conformity. For Mother Meera’s voice in my head and ideas of what I have to do to please her. For the craziness my craziness has brought me and for wanting to avoid that again.

Meanwhile, other people do similar things and it makes me wanna cry.

I so admire people who follow their artistic dreams no matter what it brings.

I guess I admire them because I long to do it also, but always end up failing.

I need to think about this more. But now it’s time for work.

Byeeeeeeeeee! :-)

Upcoming decisions

So for the first time in eight days I’ve got half an hour to write some stuff. Words, of course, have been filling my head. So much to tell! So many thoughts and experiences! But not the time now to get truly stuck in, just a little update – which may perhaps suffice anyway. Although…

One o’ them thoughts being about the writing of this blog again. Memories of last December when I took it down and I Ching seemed to say, “good idea.” And memories of more recent times, when following my last proper post first Perlilly and then Nicky read things they didn’t like, that upset them, and I got to thinking of the harm this writing does. And does it do any good? Those kind of thoughts. I mean, not that I need to write so frequently about sex and women…but then, those are two of the things that are most frequently in my mind, that I seek answers to. So what is the answer with all of that?

Anonymity? Just writing but not sharing? Not writing at all?

That’s one of the things I’ve been thinking about. What else?

Decisions. Decision-making time approaches. The psychotherapy course I’ve applied for begins in September. My dad wants to give me his shop. Laura and the prospect of a solid, settled life in Yorkshire. My job, and the murmurings of partnership in that. A home and a stable life and the committing of myself to one place for more years than I ever have before. All that stuff other people do…

And at the other end of the spectrum, those urges to get away. Six wonderful Californian ladies land into my life via random, synchronistic circumstances and those dreams of breaking into America rear their heads once more. Such great and open and positive people; such an antidote to heavy, cynical England, which seems built of bricks and stress. And such a reminder of my days there – glorious days of Utah and Big Sur – and the mind is spinning and plotting and maybe I don’t need to ‘get real’ and sort out mortgages and pensions just yet. Maybe I can be the vagabond I once was, long to be, perhaps am. It’s madness, of course – but then, I’ve lived madness before and I know the wonder of it…

Two diametrically opposed paths lie in front of me.

When you come to the fork in the road, take it.

And: okay, I will – but…

This is just the processing and the working out; beyond that, it really is one day, one step at a time. And the first step is…

Everyone, it seems, is going to Greece in August. Ever since I made that decision I’ve met nine people who have told me the same thing. So I resolve to definitely go, and maybe even will. One-way? We’ll see. Unlike June, my boss is well and truly covered for staff now. Something there awaits me.

Everyone, too, seems to be moving to the Yorkshirecoast. My mum, my dad, friends and acquaintances. That’s where the psychotherapy training is too. And I watch a Yorkshire promo film aboutthe magnificence of that coastline and it makes me cry. Patriotism. Beauty. And perhaps something more…

But again, diametrically opposed. Not just to travel and North America and Mexicocanyon dreams but to my current job, my current life in Leeds, and all the things transpiring around my dad’s shop. He’s so sick of being there. He goes from saying he’s writing his will and talking about my share to wanting to give me the keys tomorrow and forget the whole thing. He changes his mind more than anyone I know – more even than me. And what would I do with it anyway?

I like the idea of his shop. I like the challenge of restoring a failing business, sorting things out. I’d be good at it and it would probably make me proud, like what I did with Oxfam. But…

Chains. Commitment. Just money, really. And the whole crux of the whole thing: what am I here for anyway?

These two polarities: normal life amongst the concrete in Leeds, thinking about the future and making oneself secure, or crazy life out there again on the road, living for the experience, perhaps writing, juggling, earning a little crust here and there with the sweat from my brow, and moving ever onwards like that “Littlest Hobo” whose theme tune sings ever in my heart.

Decisions to be made. And, of course, Laura is a part of all that. And Nicky, at least in the sense to be written about. And…

There’s always more as far as beautiful females are concerned...

Yes, one will need to sit down and blog it all out. My cup over-floweth. This is all just the tip of the lettuce: we haven’t even mentioned crazy Christian developments and ideas related to that, nor my latest run in with the law, nor those lovely Californians, nor reluctant entering back into refereeing…

Well maybe there’s not that much; such is the way it goes when one manages to sit down and put all those thinkings in order. But there was a moment where I thought I could honestly bang out a book on the whole thing and call it “Every Single Thing I’m Thinking in the Week Leading up to my Thirty-Seventh and a Half Birthday” and publish it.

Easily eighty thousand words.

Ah, to be a writer. California#1 swoons and says the most wonderful things after taking away my short story book. Those people who live for their dreams and think not of pensions nor houses. The ones I truly envy. The kind I so often very nearly am.

But what voice keeps me from it? The voice of Mother Meera? The voice of wisdom? The voice that seeks to guide me into true happiness, and not the madness of Kerouac and Cassady? Whims are all very well but…

Like I say, beyond all that, it’s one day at a time and all I know is this day brings a shift at work, a game of tennis, some refereeing, and then home to bed. But I must find the time to write myself out. To report to you all these comings and goings. To do the magic thing that this writing always seems to do, which is progress me on and free up the past and provide me with answers. God, how did my life become so full! How can a man who lives so simply have so much going on?

But what, you ask? What is going on?

I’ll tell. I will. For better or for worse.

And then I’ll stop.

Christian mosh pitting

Awesome! So there I was, watching some crazy youngster mosh pit videos, comme ça:

and it got me to thinking how much like crazy Pentecostal Christian behaviour it was:

only nowhere near as scary or disturbing or heartbreaking or "please, Mommy, make it stop!" I mean, poor old Jesus must be turning in his grave (if you'll pardon the pun).

Anyways, then it got me to thinking, what a great opportunity for a mash up/somebody must have done one of these/and if they haven't, I will - but God bless the internet; here it is:

How funny is that? And also terrifying. I mean, can you really spot the difference? Except one's kind of harmless and sweet.

Kwupdate

Well I will write loads, obviously, but being in the middle of things I'm a-rush rush rushin' and don't have what you call "computer time" nor "stable base" so what it'll have to be is a list:

1. Last thing I wrote was about Grace. So then I did some pretty awesome detective work involving streetview and various other things and found four previous addresses and sent stupid little letters to them saying, basically, "get in touch please, I've a monkey on my back and I'd like your help in shaking it off" (using none of those words). My thinking: 5 days to get there; a bit of time in the system getting redirected (as far as I'm aware mail redirection in America is free so probably everybody does it); and then maybe it'll land on her new doormat; and then maybe she'll think about it for a bit and either get in touch of not. I dunno. Actually writing seems to make the whole thing even stupider. But what the hey.

2. Also I was probably writing about the whole "man I need to sort my ass out and get me a wife/(female) life partner" and wondering how that could ever possibly happen. But then Nicky turned up on Saturday saying she's realised her mistakes and how horribly she's treated me and wants me back. Then I went to stay with Laura after not seeing her for a month or so and found her alluring once again. And even got to thinking of ******, which is perhaps mad. But if there's really no such thing as a wrong choice then you might as well go for the maddest one, eh? Ah, it's so tough making these decisions - and especially so when you've already slept with everybody and so can't see things clearly; when it should be all about personality dumb/shallow things like the shape of the body and compatibility in bed creep in. How to make this choice? But make it I must: there's a part of me that thinks I've really done nothing with the last twelve years 'cept tread water. How dull! Growth is fun and exciting - but, wow, my ego holds such a firm sway over me.

3. Anyways, I reckon what I'll do is make a decision come September time, after Greece. Greece could be awesome and things may change there, or at least I'll have thinking time and perhaps get clear. Also, there's a part of my brain that is building a wonderful fantasy about re-bumping into Grace while I'm out there, now that I'm finally ready to go for it. Wouldn't that be awesome? And make a great movie and book and enable me to feel ever so special and better than everybody else. Hm. In any case, I can't decide nothing till then. And given how up in the air life is at the moment...

4. I applied to train to be a psychotherapist at an place on the Yorkshire coast. That'd be four years and answer many questions and soothe my wandering head.

5. I moved out of the Christian house cos the lease was up and the boys went off on their various summers and became, therefore, once more homeless. Ho hum. But I can't say it's really bothering me and it worked out okay last time. Worked out pretty awesomely actually. Though the Christianity perhaps got a little tiring in the end.

6. Then the day after I moved out I bought a campervan. Don't know why but I'd been dwelling on it for a while and the coin said "do it" so I did. It was cheap and, if it doesn't need too much work doing on it for the MOT I should make some quiddles. Plus, I'll have had the experience of owning and maybe even living in a campervan. It's got a stove and fridge and everything; you can even stand up in it. Just hope it don't all go pear-shaped like usually happens when me and motorised vehicles get acquainted.

7. Is that it? I work and I see my dad and I'm back to Laura's for the third night running tonight and that's pretty nice, still feel well comfortable with her. I keep wondering what it is I'm being stubborn about - see Shawn's angel reading for more details - and I sometimes wonder if it isn't her. Or probably just settling down in general. What else could it be but ego? How rubbish is that? And...

Ironically enough a friend messages me just as I begin this blog entry. A few days ago she'd said she'd found her man - finally - and they were gonna get it on. But then...

– Are you gonna come for a visit? To be honest, I need a friend to talk.

– Don't think so. Got work most days. What's wrong?

– Need to talk with someone with the kind of same issues about God, relationships and commitment.

– Well God is tricky. Relationships and commitment - just do it!

– it seems to be not so easy...

– Why not? A guy wants you, you like him. Just go for it and maybe it'll be easier than you think. Maybe taking the step is the solution to worrying whether you can actually take the step or not.

– He's too afraid, he got second thoughts and I want someone who will choose me with all his heart.

– Hm. That sucks. Though it doesn't surprise me. Nothing ever runs smoothly with you! Why don't you talk to him about it? Also, it doesn't matter whether he chooses you with all his heart, just that he chooses you. Everybody's afraid when it comes to commitment. Even people that really want to do it. Even people that know they want to do it and don't have any second thoughts feel fear and want to throw up at the wedding altar.

– I did, we talked a lot. He felt that the decision he took is not really his choice, but something which goes beyond him. Something life chose for him and the ego doesn't like it so much.

– So? Why doesn't he just overcome his ego? Maybe life is smarter than his silly little ego. ;-)

– Yes, sure, simple! He cannot renounce to fuck other women. Well, Rory, you should know that men love to have power over women and this is a way...

– It's not to have power over women, just that a large part of us finds having sex with lots of women appealing. Pure and simple. And even though our better parts know it's not that satisfying it's pretty hard to let go of. Especially if you've been used to it. Especially if you've got a lot of ego and fear and all that jazz. It's a problem.

– So, what should I do?

– Well I guess if he can't do it he can't do it. And then he'll just live the free and single life and one day be old and lonely and never have children and grandchildren and a companion in the years where maybe sleeping with other [beautiful young] women isn't even possible. Plus all the opportunities for growth which a long-term relationship affords. Which sounds kind of rubbish. Maybe he'll realise that and maybe he won't.

What should you do? You should probably make yourself as appealing and lovely as possible but definitely not sleep with him and definitely not sleep with anyone else - but maybe hint at going on dates or meeting someone you like - and then see if he changes his mind. You should be firm in what you want and not get swayed. If you give him sex he probably won't give you anything more. It's like holding a carrot out to lead a donkey - you don't feed the donkey.

He'll probably come around. He sounds like me. I'm getting there...slowly.

– All right, it is already in my program anyway. That's good advice. Thank you Rory...

– You're welcome.

Awesome, isn't it, when you end up giving advice and insight about the very thing you know you can't do yourself, and know even in the moment that you're giving advice to your own self too? ;-)