Private August journallings #4

Dog tired and ready for sleep so probably shouldn’t be up typing but just felt like I wanted to take a moment to say that was a better day and I feel good. Work was easy and stress-free, even though I was on my own. Whizzed round in three quick runs and had plenty of energy, unlike Friday and Monday. The key to the day, though, was probably getting launched over my handlebars on Briggate and taking a whack to the back of the head from the Hondo Les Paul copy I was carrying. It was too hilarious. Right there in front of all those shoppers. I laughed and scratched my head – and touched the decent-sized bump – and ever since then I’ve been pretty jolly. That and saying yes to the game of tennis with Nick. Good match. Served lots of aces. Played ruthless and quite aggressive. And won 6-2 6-2 6-1. To think, there was a part of me that really couldn’t be arsed, would just rather have gone home to…comfort. So glad I played. A bit of action and joy instead of all this endless thinking. Brings relief.

Before the tennis and the bump, though, there was seeing my dad, and seeing how miserable the shop is making him. He spent the weekend in Scarboroughand he obviously loved it. God plenty of sea air and outdoors time. And would have stayed if he could. And then after a few hours back in the shop he says he lost it big style and was really shouting at some customers, scared people out of the building. It’s bad. He stinks. And in the space of a few weeks he’s gone from talking about leaving it me in his will to wanting to give it to me next year, to wanting not only to give it to me now but to pay me to take it off him. It sounds ridiculous but I think he was serious: that’s how much he wants out. And instead of being overjoyed I shudder at the thought of it. That much commitment. That much work. That much being tied to one place and giving up on foreign country escapism dreams. My whole life would change and for what? A crummy old guitar shop that not even my dad can tolerate. How could I do it? Even though I would do it so differently to him. I’ve thought of this for so long but now that it’s here I’m just not sure. Not sure I could work it and not sure it’s even a viable business. What it probably means is a 40-hour week and all the stress that goes along with running your own business for about a hundred quid; not even approaching minimum wage. What’s the point in that? Although I’m sure I could improve it.

But is that what I want to spend the rest of my life doing?

Still, seems like it would be rude to say no…

The only other things I can remember from today are seeing a man’s tattoo of a maple leaf and clocking that poster in a County Arcade shop window that says something like, Travel. Return. Reminisce. Signs? Certainly that tattoo struck me – it came kind of weird, a bit like The Matrix white rabbit – but then later on I noticed a van with a Welsh dragon on it and realised how that could just as easily be taken in the same way but because I don’t have any kind of connection with Wales it’s almost as though it doesn’t register. Maybe I’m seeing flags and signs all the time but only giving significance to those that match something I’m feeling. Which would mean that they’re not signs at all.

I suppose that kind of thinking would mean more confusion if I was in the mood for being confused but I’m not: what I’m in the mood for is feeling nice and tired and smiling about my tennis and my bike spill and also enjoying that Ian and his wife are back and she’s said I can stay as long as I want. That takes the pressure off a little bit. Frees me up somewhat. She says I can come and go as I please. Leave stuff here. Go on holiday and come back. It’s perhaps more generous than the reality will allow but, for the moment, it feels nice. And, like I say, takes the pressure off from that idea of waking up tomorrow and being once more homeless. I dunno. Ali’s written from Ireland and talks lots of beauty and it sounds good where she is, in nature. I’d almost forgotten about her. Forgotten about tossing that coin that seemed to encourage me to sign up for the course she’s doing, right back when I was all smitten and gung ho and keen to make a go of it with her. All these thoughts and plans I’ve been having – Scarborough and Canadaand Greeceand Laura – but she’s been nowhere in my thinking. Maybe there’s still something there to be looked at, given our emotional symbiosis and the weirdness of our karma together. A mirror. Someone to grow with, to play spiritual leapfrog, to cry in front of and share everything. That’s what I want and that’s what I perhaps had with her for a little while.

Last thing I did last night was read journal entries from my mad times, my mid-life crisis times. Wanted to figure out where the whole psychotherapy thing had come from but instead it just put Ali into my brain.

Well, I wasn’t really thinking about her until I wrote this here. Damn writing! Can we just go back to tennis and bike crash would happiness please? And save whatever thinking needs doing for tomorrow, or even better for the time it needs doing?

I think of Brittney also. Dear sweet Brittney.

How can the world be so full of such amazing and beautiful women and yet we’re all so single. Me alone and Laura alone and Ali alone and Brittney probably alone too. All the amazing ones: alone.

Sad, isn’t it? When probably we all want somebody when you get right down to it.

Right. That’s way more than I was originally going to type. But sort of glad I did it.

God bless,

Rory