22

I feel like I have a lot to do. But, in reality, what do I actually have to do?

Write a short story by the 25th – ish. That’s Sunday; realistically, Monday.

Go to see the Dalai Lama – or bottle it. That’s on Sunday too.

Figure out about Tom and his sailing gig. Doesn’t look like he’ll be going till Tuesday, which would mean arriving there on Thursday/Friday, which would mean getting back Saturday/Sunday. That would mean holidays and missing Keith’s visit. That would be pushing it a bit.

Organise these trips to Spain. Considering going solo to Valladolid on around the 4th, to see the Sad Hill Cemetery, and then on around the 16th to Murcia for a week with Perlilly. Would have liked to have organised a Visa Electron card, but not much chance of that. And would only mean saving £12. Need to get some sort of okay on holidays with Keith. Such a pain that I can’t even take guilt- and stress-free holidays!

Think about writing the book. Thought about it – probably not much point until I get some sort of reason to do it, some interest from an agent. Should perhaps try and get some interest from an agent.

Perlilly? Perlilly’s nice. Have to help her move at the end of June. Probably have to make an effort to spend some time with myself, and with my things, since she’s not doing owt and would probably want to spend all her time with me. I could quite easily give in to that. Shouldn’t. Have to get these stories done!

Stories: the murder one; the hitch-hiking one; the re-hash of ‘Thirteen’ (not desperate). Nothing much else in the pipeline. But two’s okay for now.

So…

1. Holidays
2. Oxfam stuff
3. Tom
4. Stories
5. Dalai Lama
6. Visa Electron
7. More book stuff

There! Not too bad at all! :-)

may not...

I was thinking last week that my blog – and, therefore, my life – has become perhaps a bit too relationship-centric; I seem to have lost something of myself, that I used to have when I started this, and when people read it and loved it. I thought and I realised: it was adventures; I used to do silly little things, and I dug that. This was probably last summer. Well, the winter's been long, but sunny days are here again, and it's probably time to get back to adventuring…
       But like these first sunny days, it's a tentative step back to life, and the outdoors, and the energy of blossoms and flower-openings and blooms: the hibernating bear awakens slowly. So for my first week it was small adventures I sought. On Wednesday I found one.
       I was rushing for the train – as I always am; it's apparently the only way I know how to catch one – and had about thirty seconds to reach the platform. I made good time sprinting through the concourse after buying my ticket, weaving in and out of women in suits, but saw to my dismay an almighty queue of people waiting to get through the ticket barrier and I knew instantly that I would never make it. So, without halting my charge, I ploughed on, took a sharp veer to the left, and heroically hurdled the not-insubstantial locked gate at an unused checkpoint. A quick u-turn along platform eight and I'm feeling good. A shout behind me, though: a railway official in hot pursuit. I wave my tickets in the air and shout something about having to catch my train. Ahead of me another official takes in the scene – I swear, I see his brain-cogs working as his mind starts to piece together the information that will lead him to the inevitable conclusion: "I should stop this guy." I speed up and am past him before he reaches it, though. Up the stairs, then, around the corner and out of sight – removing my jacket, for disguise – and bursting through a bustle of commuters, who I hope are providing me with camouflage, losing my pursuer. Down the stairs, onto 12D, and into my waiting train, breathing heavily and hunched down into a newspaper, and willing the doors to close before the group of be-hatted conductors and ticket-men and guards come a-searchin'. But blessed beeping sounds and doors slide shut and I'm on my way. Adrenaline. Happiness. Adventure. I've done something naughty, and run away from a man in a uniform, and leapt a barrier, and made my escape. It's brilliant.
       I also drank a glass of wine this week, and ate some chicken. First time I've done either in about three years.
       Rory Miller is a man. Oh yes.

27

1. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.
2. I wish I could last longer in bed.
3. Don’t know why I was so mean about Danny Wallace.
4. I give a lot, I do. Sometimes I wish I got even half as much back.
5. People disappoint me.
6. I don’t think my job is a real job.
7. My, I sure play a lot of squash! (4 games in 8 days)
8. Don’t drink enough water; burning the candle at both ends.
9. Not a minute to myself.
10. Get it off your chest.
11. Nice t-shirt.
12. Happiness is a game of ‘crossbar challenge’ in the sun.
13. The need to feel secure and wanted and loved.
14. Was very angry a few weeks back, which is unlike me.
15. The question: “should I go back to hypnotherapy?”
16. Her lovely face.
17. How to balance it? The constant thinking, the need for sanity?
18. It’s hard to trust.
19. People are awesome.
20. The 5k scares me.
21. Don’t know if I’ll ever talk to my mother again.
22. X has no time for me.
23. When/will I/will I/be famous?
24. She’s not reading this.
25. 27 hours to write a story.
26. Not very good at Countdown.
27. Great at Pong.
28. A fine goalkeeping performance.
29. Forgetting about work.
30. I think I do pretty well, really.
31. Cooking for my housemates. Baking bread.
32. Not so good at the dishes.
33. Come on Everton!
34. Squash again in an hour.
35. The rain.
36. Summer’s coming; a reminder of the outside.
37. Headphones.
38. Pissing everywhere.
39. Laughing with you.
40. Uncertainty.
41. I’m a nice guy really.
42. Mr Inexhaustible, that’s me.
43. I used to really want to be a writer – and even thought I could do it.
44. Sinking down into my own bed.
45. There is life out there, somewhere, right?
46. What will we do when you’re not busy?
47. If I didn’t have a mobile…
48. If I didn’t have a home.
49. I think Mazda MX-5s look kinda dated now.
50. My nice clean bicycle goes quickly.
51. I think I’ll marry the first girl that asks me.
52. I’ve applied to be a policeman.
53. If I was rich, I’d have children by now.
54. Peter Pan.
55. Used to shit my pants when I was a boy.
56. My blue guitar has my name on it.
57. In the prime of my life.
58. God, if only I could tear my head apart.
59. Been thinking about getting drunk the last two weeks.
60. Someone to hold me, and understand.
61. Giggling like a child.
62. Is farting the greatest thing ever?
63. How good sex feels.
64. I don’t own much, really.
65. Nice clean lines.
66. The madness of needing to write a story and having nothing there.
67. Crying.
68. Resignation.
69. Eat, instead.

Stop reading me!

19

I had thought I was gonna write a whole bunch today – and even had it sort of planned out in my head – but what with squash and napping and playing the crossbar challenge and Pong and having a laugh with my housemate Diego, and the funfair, I haven’t really found the time. It was going to go something like this: three headings, the first saying, “Three Weeks Ago” and talking all about when I got scammed for fifty quid on eBay and how I played private detective and cracked the case and got the cops involved and two hundred other people in on it and now the scammer has gone on the run and fled his home and maybe the country and how we’re bringing a court case against eBay and I got my money back anyway; the second, “Two Weeks Ago,” all about going to Oxford on Perlilly’s invitation, and spilling my heart out some more, and how we kissed and got back together and became boyfriend and girlfriend, and how happy that made me and how everything was great; and the third, entitled – wait for it – “One Week Ago,” and no idea what that was about, ‘cos I can’t remember anything particularly exciting I did one week ago – except maybe the Oxford thing would cross over into there – and then I suppose I’d get on to this week and talk about how P. ended our relationship and how heartbroken and devastated and saddened I was by that, and my thoughts around it; something or other. But, like I’ve said, I haven’t had the time – and, I guess, the inclination – and I suppose this will suffice.

To end on a brighter note, however – because, I’ve realised, what I’ve written there doesn’t really reflect the mild state of happiness I’m feeling as I’m typing this – let me talk a little bit about my housemate and new found bestest chum, Diego, who is just a topmost and altogether lovely bloke from Spain. He showed me how to clean my bike yesterday. We play football together, and have little races. We went hiking on the moors. And we play Pong – oh yes, we play a lot of Pong. It started a month or so back, a conversation with my other housemates on old skool computer games, and various things were downloaded – Dizzy, Manic Miner, among others – but really it was Pong that grabbed us. It’s two player, that’s the thing. Me and Diego got stuck in; I ruled. He made me a crown – “King of Pong” – and we shouted and swore and danced in the kitchen amongst our various defeats and victories. Every time I win Diego has to put the crown on my head – the crown is a large brown envelope really – and I say to him, “who’s the king?” to which he dutifully must answer, “you’re the king” (although the frequent inclusion of the word “motherfucker” is his own addition). Also, if someone loses 11-0, they have to lick something; first time, it’s the garden; second time, the street; third time, the park opposite our house, where dogs take their shits. Diego’s lost 11-0 twice; you can see a video of him licking the street <a href=http://youtube.com/watch?v=-d5fBvhEViY>here</a>. He has also taken my crown on a couple of occasions, though not for long. I reckon I’ve won maybe eighty times – but it’s always a good tussle, and he’s getting closer all the time. We love it. Also, we fart and crack jokes and we love that too.

It’s good to have a chum.

18

And this is how lovely she was:

There once was a guy called Rory,

Who apparently seemed to adore me,

Could there anywhere be,

A girl lucky as me,

With a smart sexy boyfriend there for me.

Ok, not a great last line – but she did write it in about thirty seconds straight off the top of her head.

And two minutes later:

O Rory you are so divine,

I’m happy to say you are mine,

With such a nice bum,

And a flat washboard tum,

You are really quite wonderf’ly fine.

And:

This bohemian boyfriend of mine,

Never drinks beer or wine,

Well that’s works for me,

‘Cos when I’m tipsy,

He’ll make sure I’m home in quick time.

So this was all in texts last Saturday, two days before she came to her ‘great decision’. You also calls me “sweetie” and “sugar” and apologises for various things – and shows concern when she thinks I want a “serious talk” and also *sobs* when I don’t text her for a while (“please will you reply?”; yes, I was mad at her; perhaps unreasonably so). She texts me probably every hour at least, and at 15.34 on Monday sends me this:

Ok my darling, I think the plan tonight should be that you do your thang and I’ll do as much work as I can then you should come over when you’re done and tell me all about it before giving it to me good. Lol. In a romantic and loving way. And also maybe we can have a conversation. What do you think?x

And then various other texts and then 11pm and I walked in her door and she said, “I need to tell you something; I’ve been thinking about it for a while; I’ve come to a decision.”

“When?” I said, after I’d heard her out.

“A few hours ago,” she said, “but I’ve been thinking these things for a while – and if I’m having doubts now…well that must mean something.”

Everyone has doubts, I think, probably their whole lives – but I don’t say anything.

“I mean – don’t you have doubts?”

I shake my head. I did – but I don’t now. And even if I do – who cares? A trace of doubt will always be there, surely, at this early stage in a relationship.

She talked and said her stuff and I stared. I don’t know why I didn’t say anything – didn’t challenge her on this stuff. Would it have helped? I’m not sure. But maybe I should’ve…

Before all that, back in poem land, I wrote her this:

On a low day in Leeds, after playing the fool,

A pretty girl said, hi there, and made me feel cool,

She cheered me up; she took me by surprise,

She had the sweetest of faces; sad soulful eyes,

And over a tub of horrible chews,

I went and fell in love – but then shocking news!

She was taken, by another; she had a boyfriend,

And pop! went my dreams, of snuggling her in bed.

Several months passed, and we spoke no more,

Till one day in Hyde Park, I came to her door,

We chatted, and flirted, late into the night,

And a friendship was born, to my heart’s delight,

And over the weeks, the friendship grew strong,

And closer together, our minds became one,

Till watching the fireworks, on November the Fifth,

Our hands slipped together, and later we kissed.

Oh what joy I found, in her gorgeous face!

What happiness, and splendour, in her warm embrace!

In love, I fell, deeper – ever deeper down,

Our entwined naked bodies: why, I see them now.

I’d felt that for me, love had passed by,

I was wrong, now I see; for that I could cry –

With joy, don’t you see, for I’m one lucky guy,

My cheeky chimpy girlfriend is tastier than pie.

There was love, there, in those preceding hours and days…

She loves me…she loves me not…

18

Well I think what I’ll do is write it out of me; I felt better last night after my little ‘letter to/from my soul’, and just after that we got chatting on MSN and I was able to be light and fun, which I certainly couldn’t have managed a few hours before, and lost all my desire to ask the question, “why?” which is what has been in my head ever since. Have I answered it? I’d like to think so. Pressure; that’s what got to her – the pressure in her head, the buildup from not talking to me about it, the layer of the onion that she came to after all the questions of whether we were actually together or not had been answered. I did ask her whether she thought “I wanted to get her knocked up” and she admitted she did; that’s a shame – ‘cos even though I could see myself having babies with her, it wasn’t exactly at the forefront of my desires! Maybe six or seven years down the line, if we were still together, that sort of thing; more that I wanted to be in a committed relationship where at least it was a possibility.

I wondered then whether I should press her: whether I should play a more proactive role than what I’d originally thought to do, in just letting her be and seeing if she came around to wanting me again, as I had done. No doubt I could challenge her on her assumptions, bring these fears of hers out into the open, and maybe see if it made things better, and a part of me thought that was the thing to do – the responsible and right thing, if I can see the problem, and have the power to do something about it – but I could also see the dangers in that, and the value in letting someone alone, and letting them find their own way. I wasn’t sure at all. I did an I Ching and I got 43: Determination, and it seemed to be saying to act and do something, for the most part, yet by the end I was thinking not. The key lines seemed to be saying to not tackle the problem head on, while my one changing line was more explicit in saying, “if you strength outwardly and act before the time is ripe, you will only endanger the entire situation.” So I was resolved to say nothing and wait. I felt more at peace and more able to do this, and when I woke this morning I just had this feeling that the ‘typewriter’ would be my salvation. I need to focus on myself – and, perhaps in doing so, and by breaking the invisible bond between us, it will help give her the space to realise what has gone on. If only I had another to add a little threat and hasten the situation! lol A shame that Eve didn’t come as she’d said she would; she would have been here tomorrow…

Does this sound cunning? I guess it does. I don’t mean it to, though – it’s not exactly a plan in winning someone back, it’s a boy trying his best to navigate the minefields of life. Which way to turn? How to avoid danger? I ask and these are the answers I get. Maybe she will come and maybe she won’t – but either way I have to remain true to myself and plot the best course through my own life. My heart and mind has the map – and a little extra help from outside/above – and if I try I can probably make it out, a little blurred it might be at times. Writing will help me, and asking for signs, and just trying to get in touch with the feelings of the situation. Have I done that by deciding it’s pressure and fear that has driven her to put an end to this? Or, again, is that wishful thinking? Either way, I think this is the way forward now…

Now talking of signs – well, as you well know I was engaged in a course of hypnotherapy with a chap in Huddersfield to tackle my commitmentphobia, which sort of went off the rails during our third session when we got into something of an ‘argument’ – if you can believe that – and I lost a little bit of faith in him. I didn’t close off the possibility of continuing with him, though – I just put a postponement on it and said I’d have a think. One thing was, I wasn’t sure if I was ‘healed’ – I couldn’t feel any aversion to commitment anymore, having taken a few steps in life – and it seemed pointless rooting around for stuff that perhaps wasn’t there. Sure, we hadn’t had that cathartic moment I’d been promised, when the root of it all had been reached and the grand emotional release I’d been promised had come – but I did feel better and, like I say, not afraid anymore, of a serious job, and a serious relationship, and the rest of it. Still, I asked for a sign, unsure of whether to quit or not, and at that moment a sort of ragbag drunk-looking couple walked past and the bloke said, “has it been released? Is it done?” (his exact words) and inside I felt the answer, “no”. Coincidence? Maybe. But it seemed to answer something in me.

We’d ended that last session with me feeling kind of angry, in a very mild way – but so often in the past week I’ve been angry – and almost in a rage at times – and that’s really quite unlike me. Danny Wallace and Perlilly seem to have borne the brunt of that – in my head at least, if not in person, before I let it go – but also various large companies and individuals and situations have been railed against. I wondered if it was something to do with the hypno. I also seem to have felt more, and been more empathetic, and cried more since I started this. I also wonder if it’s why I suddenly seem to find myself so attractive, since we’ve touched on issues of bodily insecurities. I think I should probably toss a coin and maybe write to the guy and go back. It’s sixty quid an hour – which is a fair chunk of money, I suppose, and probably one reason I hesitate on this – but that’s just an excuse, surely. Yeah, I think I’ll write to him now and see what the deal is…

I hope I get through this day. I hope I remain strong in giving Perlilly her space. I hope she takes some time to feel what she’s feeling, and to realise that any pressure she’s felt hasn’t really come from me, isn’t really there to fear, and can probably be done away with if we just talk about it. I hope she gets to the root of her feeling and realises that she still does love and want me, as I love and want her, and we can get back to just having a fun and easy and saucy time together, without too many thoughts of the future, just enjoying today – for who knows what tomorrow may bring, what’s around the corner? We have no idea whether we’ll still like each other six months down the line – but we love and enjoy each other today, and shouldn’t that be enough?

Thanks again for listening,

Rory

Dear...

Dear Perlilly, I'm fuming today - I can't believe you've done this to me. I can't believe after everything - after wanting me, after taking me back, after letting me declare my love for you, after asking me about DeGraw's 'overrated' ("is that how I feel?"), after those poems we wrote each other, after the sweet things we said, after we talked about holidays together, after we made plans and made it obvious we wanted each other, after everything had fallen into place, after everything had gotten good again, and we were ready for fun and happiness and loving - that you then went and said, "it's not going to work" - out of nowhere, with no real basis, no lead-up, nothing. "It's not going to work" - but why? Because...what did you say? Because you said you were too young, because you thought our differing beliefs would be a problem, because I once mentioned something about a barefoot wedding (did I even say that?) and that taking my kids to India would be good for them? I mean, what kind of horseshit is that! I mean, why didn't we even talk about it!? What a load of fucking crap. Too young? You're no younger than I, in so many ways. Kids? Pressure? What pressure? When did I ever say that I wanted that NOW? Barefoot wedding? India? Bullshit! If you'd only just asked me then we could have sorted it out - but you didn't even bring yourself to talk to me; you just made this stupid decision ALL ON YOUR OWN, and went ahead with it, without even thinking or realising what you were doing. It's ridiculous. What a crock. And now I'm hurting and devastated and once again my future happiness has gone - and for no fucking reason whatsoever, and I hate you for it. (I don't really - but this is me venting, and I'm allowed a little drama). We could have been so good - we could have had something real - and now I've got to suffer because of your bullshit, because of your misunderstandings, because you got scared and couldn't find a way and now you'll go running to someone else - and I'm supposed to be the commitment-phobe! Ha! So go and find some other guy - some drunk young thang that can trawl around after you and not never mention reincarnation or hypnosis 'cos he's too shallow and thick to think of it (okay, you hang around with some real smart people, and could easily bag some Oxford professor, I know) - but will you ever find the love that I offered you? Will you ever find something as good and powerful and true? I doubt it - and probably that's why you had to go, because you knew that it was real, and that it was love - same as I did - and that's a little bit much to take. But maybe I should be blaming myself here - maybe if I'd played it cool...maybe if I hadn't freaked after Christmas - when you were waxing so lyrical about us, about how we'd worked so well together, when you were telling me over and over that you loved me - God, I wish it was those days again! Why did I make such a mistake? Why did I get so turned around in my head? Why did I go to India and get all lost in spiritual thoughts and shit again? Why couldn't I just be normal!? And I came back and thought and thought - and thought you weren't spiritual enough for me (but really it was the pressure of responsibility that done me in) - and now you've gone and done the same, but in reverse (ie, me too spiritual for you) - and what a crock of shit that all is anyway! As if I'm spiritual! As if there's anything in my bones that resembles even the slightest bit of spirituality, beyond a few kooky beliefs, an ability to heal, and a history of meditation and sadhu-like wandering that is so, so in the past. And why are you so afraid of that stuff anyway? Jesus, what kind of a sheltered life have you lead? You'd think that people would be curious - but not you, no, you just get furious instead - and in a billion conversations I've never had a reaction like that. Slightly mental, in my opinion, but there you go - and it didn't stop me loving and wanting and admiring you anyway, because, like I've said a dozen times, it all comes down to what's inside, and what's inside you is so pure and good compared to what's inside me and what I've been; I mean, I had it rough, and I was bad - you don't even know how bad - and if anything all spirituality did was save me and bring me somewhere close to where you - to where a normal person - should be. It's still not easy being good, though - and you don't have a naughty bone in your body (even if you can be quite wicked sometimes). So why can't we just forget all that? And why did we ever bring it up in the first place? Like I said: who gives a flying fuck? I believe in God - you don't; who cares? I believe in life after death - you don't; it doesn't make one blind bit of difference to ANYTHING. And even now I'm just going around in circles with this; let's forget it; let's never mention it again - let me never mention it to anyone again, ever, unless they ask me. These things should leak out naturally, not be forced or distributed willy nilly; I've been guilty and wrong in the past, I realise that now; I just wanted to be interesting to others, I guess, and this is sort of 'my thing'; it sets me apart; it makes me different; it's something a lot of others haven't got; it's an ego thing. I want it to die now...I sort of want to die too. And, yes, that is just drama - just words that come into my head - but I suppose it must be somewhat indicative of how lost and helpless I feel...my woman has gone - my lovely woman love has gone - and it's all wrong, and it shouldn't be, and there's nothing I can do about it except cling on to sanity for dear life and hope and wait and, in the meantime, drown, in suffering - and deservedly so, because this is exact role reversal of what I done and I just have to suck it up. But will you come back? Will you come back? That's the question. Or will you move on, and leave me desolate and heartbroken, and thinking only of what could have been had I perhaps kept my mouth shut once or twice and not been such a dickhead when presented with love? God, I'm sorry; I really am. If only we could make it better; I just can't accept that it's over (lol); I can't. It's four days now - it's been four of the most horrible days of my life. Every fibre in my being wants to win you back - but I stop myself because I know it won't work; you don't want it; you don't care. You've got your friends, you've got your work; you can shop; when's the time gonna come for you to feel the sadness and the horror of what you've done, the stirring of love that will lead you back to me? You've got your booze, too - your distractions will save you, when they couldn't save me, and time will pass and soon you'll forget and move on and...you're better at that than me. You left Lee behind so easily for me - fuck! You told me you could see yourself being with me for a long time! You asked me less than two weeks ago, "do you think it can be like it was at Christmas?" You called me darling and sweetheart and said what a lucky girl you were to have me - and then you threw me away, with barely a passing thought - except you cried your bucketloads of tears, and didn't that tell you something? That this is a mistake; that there should be something else you were doing; a better way; that we weren't done. For fuck's sake, we were only getting started! All I can do is shake my head and cry: it's so preposterous - and why can't I just distract? This isn't helping me at all; I'm off back to work.

NB: This is just a rant; never meant to be read by her, never intended to be posted off...