Geek Attack!

Good Morning Faithful Readers – and a special good morning to my newest reader, Rachel! Hi Rach!

 

I have a new pattern – quick, someone get me a Wiffle Bat! – I can’t bloody sleep. Last night was a disaster; I kept waking up throughout the night, eventually giving up actually trying to get back to sleep around 5.30am. Strangely, I’m not tired in the slightest. I can only hope that lasts through the day.

 

Today, I am mostly pissed off at London cinemas. After trying (and, sadly failing) to book tickets to see the new Batman movie at the IMAX in Southbank here in London, I thought I’d have a quick flick around to see what other cinemas were showing it. I managed to find one suitable – the Leicester Square Odeon. The price? An extortionate £38. I swear to all that is holy – the people that run these cinemas are on crack. Crack, I tell you!

 

But anyway, let’s rewind to yesterday.

 

The group seemingly emerged from a weekend of masterpieces and frivolity in fairly decent shape, and it seems as though people are out in the real world fending for themselves pretty well. It will be interesting to see everyone on the 29^th – a date I am rather looking forward to – to see and hear first hand how people are getting on, and indeed if they’ve changed since Florence House.

 

I was lucky with my masterpieces. My parents were evidently waiting for the ice to break in our relationships, and in the course of a single conversation, we did the sort of repair work twenty years of therapy wouldn’t have achieved. However, some people have not been so lucky, and it is heartbreaking to hear. I hope beyond all hopes that they remember one of the greatest things we have learned, something which is central to all we have learned in fact, which is this: it is not about you. Offering unconditional love is one of the most powerful things a person can do. You should be proud of yourselves, all of you, for being so in touch with yourself that you can sit down and tell someone something so wonderful. Whether they take it, throw it back in your face, or just look like they’ve fallen into a waking coma; that’s their own patterns. That’s them.

 

Remember, it has nothing to do with you.

 

Until yesterday, I was fairly certain that I’d calmed down about Hoffman. Though I am ridiculously happy, probably approaching annoyingly bright and breezy, and really rather pleased with myself, I thought that the initial euphoria had gone, and certainly felt myself settling into the more mechanical aspects of my every day life.

 

But then, I met Rachel.

 

Rachel and I have been friends for what must be approaching 10 years. (Rachel, feel free to add a comment at the end of the blog if I’m wrong) We originally met when I worked with her in a Virgin Megastore, and I fancied the pants off of her. Over time, we became friends, and that all sort of faded away, and, over the years, that friendship has remained – mostly, thanks to coffee and/or Facebook.

 

Rachel had contacted me recently, and we agreed to meet for coffee (tea for me) after work last night, for one of our usual chats, and so she could have my copy of ‘Catcher In The Rye’, the first book I had read cover-to-cover in about 20 years.

 

We met in London’s wonderful Trafalgar Square, and through the course of conversation, Rachel and I reconnected in a wonderful way. Apparently, I’ve changed significantly, which is wonderful to hear. I mean, I’m not looking for validation, but it’s always nice to hear.

 

After a sparkling water for me and an orange juice for her at Pret A Manger, we decided to head to HMV so I could buy some headphones (I had left mine in the car, and wanted to do a check in on the tube) and so she could buy some birthday presents.

 

It was a wonderful, sunny London evening. The great historical buildings towered over us, offering us shade from the sunshine. Businessmen carrying briefcases and tourists crowded London’s famous streets as one of the great cities in the world began to wind down for the day.

 

‘Hey, let’s take a short cut through Leicester Square,’ I said.

‘Okay,’ Rachel replied.

 

And then, this:

 

We managed to walk right into the middle of the European premiere of the new Batman movie.

 

After wrestling our way through the hoards of curious tourists and single middle aged men, we made our way to HMV (Where I bought myself a couple of movies, and a pair of headphones in the most ridiculous colour I could find) before parting for the evening. In times past, it would have been months, maybe a year before I saw Rachel again. In the spirit of the new me, we’re going to do the same thing – perhaps minus the crushing crowds of people – next Monday.

 

Instead of going home, I decided to take a walk. It really was a lovely evening, and I had an overwhelming feeling of not wanting to go home yet. A short walk (or not that short) down Regent’s Street and Oxford Street later, and I finally arrived at Tottenham Court Road station with a new shirt and, finally, a copy of ‘Affluenza’, which will have to replace ‘1984’ as my current reading.

 

Most significantly, I did the entire walk without the need for noise. Sure, London is full of noise, but it used to be that I’d plug in my iPod the moment I was alone. However, last night, all I could hear was the wind. It really was a rather exquisite collection of moments.

 

By the time I got home, I barely had enough time to throw a bowl of Sultana Bran down my throat before it was time for my regularly-interrupted sleep.

 

Well, that’s it for today, bloggers. I am trying to think of a decent activity to do after work today, so if you’ve got any ideas, please comment, and I’ll gladly take them on board.

 

Oh, and finally, an apology to my girlfriend. Yesterday (though its now deleted) I perhaps didn’t articulate myself as best I could – I did say at the beginning I was tired – and may have relayed a conversation I had with her in a way that made her sound like a cold, heartless bitch, frankly. If anyone read this, I want to assure you that she is anything but – in fact, she is cuter and more warm hearted than the offspring of Bambi and a teeny tiny rabbit. In metaphorical terms, of course. Not biologically. That’d be disgusting.

 

Until next time blog fans…

 

Closed Box

 

 

Another Brick In The Wall(E)

Dear Readers,

 

Welcome to Friday – not quite the weekend, but pretty gosh darn close.

 

This time last week, the group was beginning to splinter. The course drew to a close, and people were facing up to the prospect of the real world once again. For me, the real world included immediately leaving Florence House to buy every newspaper I could see so I could catch up on the sports news. I was rather excited, and I think I petrified the guy in the newspaper shop. On the off-chance he’s reading this, please accept my apologies. They don’t let us out much.

 

The group has been in constant touch, one way or the other, throughout the week. But today I am feeling more of a longing and melancholy than usual. My mind is swamped with memories of roasting marshmallows in an indoor fire, (it doesn’t work) and riding the shopping trolley while Mike pushed it around Morrison’s. And, of course, sending Neil on errands we’d then complete ourselves. Only in the equalising world of Hoffman could an I.T. professional and someone who spends his day blogging send a managing director to find long sticks.

 

And so to all of you on this day, know you are with me throughout – not just at a 9am check in – and know that you have my thanks; for being an integral part of my experience and for the memories. I hope each of you has a weekend of pure, unbridled joy, and, to those who will be delivering your masterpieces this weekend, know that the thoughts, love and best wishes of this particular closed box are with you. You deserve its fabulous reward.

 

With that thought in mind, I have decided to have a weekend that would make a kid with Attention Deficit Disorder collapse with exhaustion.

 

This evening will begin actually rather sensibly. I will be leaving work at 4 prompt – no London adventure tonight, sadly – and get back home to throw some stuff in a bag. Then, it’s for dinner with my sister and brother, (we’re doing the family bonding thing, you see) and as long as something last minute and lawyer-y doesn’t come up, my girlfriend will be coming too. Then, it’s jetting off (or tube-ing off, as the case may be) to London Bridge (where my girlfriend lives) to get some shut eye.

 

Saturday, we’re up early to do… wait for it… yoga. I, David Levy, king of the apathetic, am doing yoga! Bloody yoga! I will have to provide photographic evidence so that if I ever slip back into those old patterns, I’ll be able to see what a berk I don’t mind looking. After yoga – which is, incidentally, one of these weird ones where its really hot and you sweat beyond all comprehension – and presumably a shower, it’s a walking tour of London, and then hopefully meeting my uncle and cousin, and then home to prepare for a night of fun! We’re going to eat tons of sugar, play games, go bowling, and then, as the night gets old, find a bar – probably Cheers on Regent Street, feel free to come by and laugh at us – and dance the night away. Since I got over my terrible self consciousness, I have a real urge to dance. So dancing it is!

 

Sunday morning will presumably being with the double whammy of a body that can’t move from the yoga (both of us) and a raging hangover (probably just her). Gradually, after what I can only presume is some very slow movement, a breakfast involving bacon, orange juice and sunglasses, we will begin to make our way to my home, hopefully in time for… Wall-E!

 

I have come out of Hoffman a child re-born. I have no interest in television. None. I have no interest in film – and believe me, that’s big news. In fact, I have watched just two things since I got back, both while I was doing the ironing on my Monday off – Finding Nemo and Monsters Inc. And now, hopefully, Wall-E, the animated story of a robot left on Earth to clean up after the humans have gone who falls in love. I cannot freakin’ wait. We’re going to be the oldest ones in the cinema by about 20 years, but I couldn’t care less. I would assume Wall-E will be followed by some sort of meal of food, and then, presumably, a long sleep.

 

I will return on Monday with as many tales as I can muster. Until then, have a great weekend, world!

 

All my love,

Closed Box

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

So I finished ‘Catcher In The Rye’. Yes, it’s short. And yes, it’s got 2 page chapters or something, but darn it, I read the entire thing from start to finish in 24 hours and I feel damn good about it. It’s been a long, long time since I read a book and felt that connected to it. Next up, George Orwell’s ‘1984’, a book I have always intended to read, but have not as of yet done so. I have thus far managed to read what can only be described as an exhaustive introduction, on the tube this morning. This one will certainly present more of a challenge.

 

So yesterday, I was pretty unhappy. I mean, I owned it and all that jazz, but I was not in a particularly good way. For one thing, I was/am bored out of my fucking brains. I always was, in fairness, but in the old days – something I now remember washed in sepia, and told with a jolly piano soundtrack – I was just happy to be somewhere that asked nothing of me, and took the same right back.

 

They say no big decisions should be made in the first few months, and I can understand this. But what drew me to this job was that it was probably the only work I have ever found (and believe me, I’ve done more than my share) that paid well for doing nothing. This is employment purgatory, and though I will be trying manfully to stay with it until such a time when I think that any choice I make will be a considered one, I have a feeling that this will come sooner rather than later.  

 

Talking of which, two things have come up that I have to make decisions on fairly sharpish. The first is that I have to find somewhere to live. Where I live now was never suitable for my needs, and I think in a way, I was just trying to make a defiant point to my parents – ‘look at me! I can live in the middle of nowhere, by myself, and still function!’

 

I have to be out of where I am now by the end of next month at the absolute latest, and though I can go back to my parents for a short while, it is going to be very difficult to be on top of each other (as much as you can be on top of each other in a house like that) and maintain the progress we have most certainly begun. Fortunately, I have a fairly decent budget to work with, so here’s hoping it’s not too stressful.

 

And the other, frankly, I am having real dark side-like issues with. I have come to the conclusion that I would like to train as a counsellor. Even if it is not a chosen profession in the future, I think that doing the training in the meantime would be a wonderful thing. However, I probably have, with the school year starting in September, about a 6 week window in which to make a firm decision about doing this. This window, sadly, also needs to include the resolution of the huge message that says ‘STAY THE FUCK AWAY’ when my name is entered into the Open University database. More news on this as and when I get it.

 

But yesterday was noticeable for one reason particularly – the first real moment of pre-Hoffman behaviour since I have returned from the course.

 

I guess I started feeling a bit ‘off’ around mid-morning. I could feel a thumping in my chest, something I always used to get, and by lunchtime, as I sat down to Tim and The Hoffman Band play ‘Quadrinity Check In’, I was full-on distracted. By afternoon, I was in panic mode. I was more consciously aware of it than I was in my pre-process days, and I stopped myself retreating into the old comforts of self doubt, self sabotage, disappearing into a distraction or eating something with a extraordinary amount of sugar. Though it took me all afternoon, I worked with the feeling, and eventually, by the time I sat down to dinner, I felt back on track. In fact, this morning, I feel bloody marvellous, and if it wasn’t for a rancid Orange Juice from Marks and Spencers in Bond Street Underground Station, I’d be feeling even better.

 

From the sounds of it, a number of people on the process are finding that life doesn’t suddenly just ‘fix’ itself – that there are ongoing issues and problems, and that things rear their ugly little heads from time to time. What is different, by most accounts, is the way we deal with things. Having 23 new friends going through the same thing is an invaluable tool, too.

 

I guess in many ways, change is like addiction – you can decide to change or to quit, but the real fight is in maintaining it.

 

I’ve been Closed Box, and this has been your blog for the day.

 

Much love to all.

Me = Trafalgar2 (Squared, that is)

Dear All

 

I have music! I have FINALLY got somewhat more used to noise, most probably aided by my first trip on London’s famous Underground, and last night, though it was hardly Metallica or anything, I had a sudden urge to listen to music. I opened my iTunes, and found the perfect song. If any of you have 79p spare, go to the iTunes store, and buy Bob Dylan’s ‘You’re A Big Girl Now’. For a guy with a voice like Dylan to sing with such poise, elegance, and beauty is a remarkable thing.

One of the verses:
Bird on the horizon, sittin’ on a fence,
He’s singin’ his song for me at his own expense.
And I’m just like that bird, oh, oh,
Singin’ just for you.
I hope that you can hear,
Hear me singin’ through these tears.

I just sat there in my towel, listening to this song. I can still hear it in my head.

 

Work came and went, much as it did before. I still don’t have enough to do, even with my new-found sense of endeavour and enthusiasm, and I am still more than aware that I am working in the wrong field. To make things worse, someone I work with quit yesterday. Note to self: You won’t be doing this for long.

 

Actually, I have been thinking about the next step quite a lot. I am conscious that I shouldn’t make any big decisions in the first few months of things, but my mind is absolutely overflowing with thought and idea. I can’t move for the possibility of… possibility! I still would very much like to be involved with some sort of bursary/charity fund, to aid people who need to, but can’t afford to, do what I have just done. I have been given a gift – a gift of life! – and it seems unfair that this should be so just because I, or someone else I know is wealthy. I am due to speak more about this on the 29^th.

 

More and more, however, I am thinking about becoming a counsellor. I have, in my life, experienced a number of things and events which I am pretty sure would lend themselves to this practice. It is quite a lot of study, but there is no reason why I could not do this at the same time as something else – perhaps like the above. Unlike many of the things I have thought about going back to school for in the past, I don’t see a disadvantage in being that bit older – most likely 32 or 33 at the point of graduation – in fact, quite the opposite. I can’t imagine a know-it-all 28 year old provides much comfort to anyone.

 

So, these are things to think about in the coming weeks. I may have to act soon, though, as the school year starts in September, and time is short. Oh, and Open University (where I would most likely have to study) aren’t my biggest fans since the ‘I’m not doing your English degree any more, so I’ll just not pay you the money I owe you’ debacle.

 

Perhaps was the most notable part of my working days came during lunch, and then, just after.

 

Lunchtime arrived as it always does – things change, but sadly, I have no control over time – and I took up my usual stoop in the basement. To most, I am sure, this would conjure up images of an old man in a beard eating fish heads out of a bowl in something resembling a dungeon, but our basement is cool, airy and bright, with large tables, and a giant television that plays BBC Parliament around the clock. Unless someone’s been in there alone, and changed the channel so I am greeted with ‘Cash In The Attic’ or something.

 

So anyway, being that for the moment, I have given up disappearing into my iPod over a lunchtime, (and on the tube for that matter) I decided that lunchtime was a perfect opportunity to close my eyes and do my daily (yes, it’s going to be daily) Quadrinity check in.

 

It’s a lot harder to do this thing for yourself. For one thing, the world of ‘ish’ and ‘om’ is a lot emptier when you’re by yourself with Gordon Brown prattling on in the background. And, perhaps the central flaw in the plan is that after relaxing yourself as you should, you then have to open your eyes, and press play. I hereby propose that Tim re-records the entire CD with the ‘ish’ and ‘om’ introductions before every track.

 

But nonetheless, I managed to do it (that 10 second instrumental introduction is good for calming the old ticker down) and felt much better. Where before, I would face the prospect of the second half of my day with dread, I was at once bright, awake, and totally relaxed within myself. It seems these things bring their own reward.

 

While in the house, I had decided to buy a copy of ‘Affluenza’, a book by Oliver James which was apparently instrumental in sending a number of people Hoffman’s way. One of my unresolved patterns (take a bat and a pillow and call me in the morning) is that when I find something I like or love, I try and find out every bit of information I can about it. Being that Hoffman worked out ok for me, I wanted to know Oliver James’ opinion, or just what he wrote. I left work at 4 as normal, and instead of heading straight home, I had decided to buy a copy of this book, and head to Trafalgar Square to read it for a while, at the same time once again re-enforcing my newly-found lack of self-consciousness. I was going to sit on one of the square’s famous lions while I read.

 

Unfortunately, the plan encountered some hitches. Firstly, Waterstones, the place where I had envisaged buying a copy of the book, has closed its Oxford Street branch. I hadn’t planned for that. A trip to the only other possible outlet that would sell it – Regent Street’s Virgin Megastore or whatever it’s called these days – didn’t prove much better. I did ask the sales assistant if they could check if they had a copy, but he looked at me as if I’d just asked him the square root of infinity. In the end, after some light perusal and the ruling out of any half-arsed biography of Johnny Depp or Rhys Ifans or The Stone Roses or something like that, I stumped for a copy of a book I’d always meant to read – ‘Catcher In The Rye’.

 

A short walk later, and I am indeed reading my book and basking in the sunlight in Trafalgar Square, sitting in the shade of a giant (and what I presume is bronze) lion. If it hadn’t have been for a desperate need for a bathroom break, I doubt I would have moved for some time.

 

I should note at this point how pleased I am with myself. However, unlike normal instances, where I am pleased with myself because I’m completely egotistical, (hello – a DAILY blog?!?!?) this time, it is with good reason.

 

I own a million books. And I have never bought anything to impress anyone. Whether it is matters of science, philosophy or psychology, I have bought them all with the express intent of reading them, not so I’d have something clever to say at a party if I managed to remember a sentence, but because I was genuinely interested in the subject matter. Unfortunately, for the past couple of years, my mindset has not been receptive to reading. I’ve tried, sure, but I would read too fast, and not take it in. I’d give up after 10, 20, 50 pages, or get frustrated because I knew I was kidding myself, or the noise in my head drowned out the words. No more. I read ‘Catcher In The Rye’ with a wonderful clarity, totally immersing myself in Holden Caulfield’s world. I understood subtext, made my own mental picture of the characters, and really felt as though I understood the narrative, and Holden himself. I don’t know that I’ve ever had such a connection with words. I’m assuming being 7 and reading Enid Blyton’s ‘The Wishing Chair’ doesn’t quite count the same way.

I got home, and instead of seeing a bookshelf of failure and frustration, I saw one of opportunity. I had spent a lifetime collecting books of wonderful knowledge, and now the door (or box, if you prefer) was open. I thought that was a wonderful metaphor for what I am currently feeling.

 

Until next time, I hope the doors are opening for you.

 

Yours, Closed Box

 

 

 

 

Workin’ 9 to 5 (Well, 8 to 4, actually, but Dolly Parton didn’t sing about that)

Dear All,

 

I honestly thought today would be the day the walls come tumbling down, and the newly-built city of strength would crumble, and be revealed to be plasterboard painted like stone. Sorry about the rather laboured metaphor.

 

I thought today, the day I returned to work, would be the day when I would once again settle into a life of apathy and banality; that, as before, my work days would consist of trying to look like I was working while I played on the internet. I suppose, seeing as I am writing this blog at 10.45am, there is an argument for saying this is indeed so.

 

But the signs are good. Still no coffee, which is in itself a minor miracle, and I have a focus, drive and energy I have not known before. Slowly, the group are touching base, and it’s lovely to have a circle of friends I don’t feel like I am having to spin like plates on sticks at a circus. It was exhausting remembering all the lies, let alone maintaining them.  It is perhaps fitting that the wounds on my hands and the blisters on my palms are beginning to fade. My body is fixing itself.

 

I feel like the leaf from the hedge I picked just a few days ago. I am but the root, and bit by bit, I have the capability and the potential to reach out, to create new branches and leaves. In every landmark moment since I have returned to the real world – my ‘masterpiece’(s), the first time I was out with friends, even in my work – I have been left utterly astounded by the clarity and focus I have; by the balance and tranquillity I feel. But mostly, by the reactions. It is amazing how contagious this feeling of openness and warmth is. Every tear seems to breed another tear, every laugh raises one the same. In telling someone I love them, I seemed to have opened a doorway to so much – breaking down barriers as though they were made of paper, where before they were made of rock. I think back to just 10 days ago, and can’t believe what I was doing to myself all these years.

 

And I have decided to take advantage of my situation – a situation that finds me leaving my work at 4 in the afternoon, with an entire world in front of me. In times past, I would head straight home – race, in fact – preferring the sanctuary of the false security of being alone in my own comfort zone to the prospect of being in the ‘outside world’. But now, I feel as though the whole world is in front of me, and with the entire internet as my benevolent witness, (or all 16 of you, going by yesterday’s readership) I would like to add something to my ‘to do in the first month list’ – make the most of my gift of time.

 

To start, this evening, I shall walk to Trafalgar Square, sit down, and take in the magnificence of one of the world’s great cities. Maybe I’ll do a visualisation, maybe I’ll just people watch, but regardless, the days of ‘Running David’ are over. The box is open.

 

Until next time

Closed Box