Keep Your Head

Shazzam Bitches!

 

And welcome to ‘Back and to the Future’, the blog that wallows in self loathing, only to cry while masturbating until it’s all ok.

 

I’m your host Closed Box, and let me set the tone for today’s entry, as I attempt to recall the last 24 hours, and maybe preview what is to come.

 

It was fucked.

 

I guess sometimes you are the pigeon, and sometimes, you’re the statue – and yesterday was National Statue Day, and I was the mayor of Statuetown.

 

I’ve been feeling uneasy all week. Perhaps even longer than that. I’ve not been myself – I’ve been putting myself under huge pressure at work, at home, and truthfully, in aspects of my life. I’ve not dealt with it, and, yesterday, I went into an uncontrollable spiral that led to me sitting in my class last night (as we Brits say) pissed as a fart. A more commonly known term might be ‘shitfaced’.

 

Now here’s a revelation – I’m going to say something negative about the process I did: on days like yesterday, what it gave me was torture.

 

I am at this point more than aware that occasionally, I have no control over my behaviour. And, in the post-process times (which are thankfully limited) that I have ‘lost it’ a bit, I’ve just sort of gone for the ride, and let it play out, knowing fighting only makes it worse. But the problem is – I’m almost TOO self aware. I can be going through my most hated of patterns, and instead of blindly panicking about why I feel a certain way, or wrapping myself in guilt, my inner monologue spends its entire time evaluating:

 

‘You’re doing this’

‘You’re feeling like this because…’

‘This is the pattern you’re going through’

 

And it is complete and utter torture.

 

And so, I turned up for class drunk at 7pm, really feeling quite sorry for myself, and coming off the back of a pretty shitty day. I feel bad about it, (the day) sure, but in a self-punishing sort of way, I actually feel glad that it all came to a head. Looking back at my blog entries this week, I’ve not been myself, and I really don’t want to do that old thing of bottling stuff up, and swallowing it down.

 

But, strangely – and please don’t think me in any way condoning heavy drinking – there was a point yesterday, when I was sitting in Café Rouge eating a chicken salad and drinking yet another beer, when I have felt more in touch with my emotions than I have at any other time since I was in Florence House. If you’d have asked me, I could have cried no problem, and if there was a purple pillow around… well, forget about it. (Only a few of you might get that reference)

 

I got home about ten, sober but a little woozy and weary, and climbed into bed. Oh, and for the first time in about 5 years, I was absolutely DESPERATE for a cigarette.

 

So, it’s Friday, and another weekend rolls around. No doubt, mine will be spent trying (and getting frustrated with) University work, pretending not to be interested in the X-Factor results, and going out with Alex, which I am, for the 3^rd time, on Sunday. I am loathed to call it a ‘3^rd date’, though. At this point, I think its just people who want to see each other.

 

So, I shall leave you for the week with a great weekend tune – and one with a fitting title.

 

I hope you enjoy it – ‘Keep Your Head’ by The Ting Tings

Lots of love,

Closed Box

Me Against Against Me

Welcome ladies and gentleman, welcome. Welcome to ‘Back and To The Future’ – the blog which has been RUBBISH this week.

 

My apologies to all for the poor week we’ve had in blog-land. It’s been a bit of a shocker.

 

Buoyed by an upturn in mood, and clarity of mind, I am happy to announce that shitty entries shall be no more, and the fun and fancy free David is back. All hail my triumphant return!

 

In the midst of the mire and the dark, I have been struggling with the idea of moving, before finally deciding to pull the plug today. Something didn’t feel right, and whether it is a case of the place, the person, or something inside of me, it’s better not to force myself into something I don’t want on some level.

 

But this needs to be sorted fairly sharpish, as I can’t go on where I am. It’s really not healthy.

 

In other news, people are idiots.

 

You know what really, really, really, really pisses me off? People who use text language or any other reference to internet-based language in real life. ‘Lol’ is right up there. People who use ‘lol’ should be shot in the face with a cannon. But, it’s become so popular, and so widespread, that whenever I receive an email, text, or Facebook message containing this abomination, I just accept it, and move on.

 

But things have clearly gone too far, and I am drawing the line.

 

Here: ­­­­­­______________________________________________________________

 

Line drawn.

 

Someone who I have not spoken to in nearly two years, and who shall remain nameless because she is clearly (a) brain-dead, and (b) I am inclined not to open her up to international ridicule, has just sent me an email with no introduction, no salutation, and no farewell, just one word:

 

‘poke’.

 

Poke. Fucking poke. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THESE PEOPLE?!?!?! I swear to God, Santa, or whatever fictional character you believe in, that the world is going to come to a sad, limp end with these people populating the world of future generations. I may have the worst grammar on Planet Earth, but at least I can string together a group of words into a sentence.

 

But poke? Fucking poke?!?!?!

 

When I’m Prime Minister, I’m going to bring in laws that require you to get a licence to bring children into the world, so that we can breed out idiots, and create a race of super-Brits; a people generically engineered to live a life of family values, stability and are able to say something more than FUCKING POKE!

 

Ok, I needed to get that off my chest. Thanks for listening.

 

I don’t know where all this anger has come from today – maybe it’s because I’ve spent all morning listening to Against Me (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Against_Me) – an awesome punk band, whose most recent album, New Wave (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_Wave_(Against_Me!_album) is utterly brilliant – and was voted #9 of the Top Albums of 2007 by Rolling Stone magazine. It’s quite heavy going, but so very, very good. And, in ‘White People for Peace’, it contains probably the best protest song written since ‘Fortunate Son’ by Creedence Clearwater Revival. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fortunate_Son_(song))

 

Have a listen:

 

 

Well, that’s me done for today folks. I hope you enjoy Against Me – if you liked the song above, check out this one too:

 

 

And I shall be back tomorrow

 

Until then,

Closed Box

 

There’s Snow Business Like Snow Business

So this morning I woke up, and the entire world was white. No, the BNP wasn’t elected in my sleep but rather, for the first time since 1932, London had October snow.

 

So yesterday I took the day off working work to do some work that actually mattered – university work.

 

After watching the horrific documentary ‘Bulgaria’s Abandoned Children’, (see previous entry) I wasn’t much in the mood for anything, and though I ended up not doing all that much work in the end, I still did a number of other things which made for a productive day, and I feel pretty good about it. I still have to do some university work, but I’ve decided to stop pressuring myself to do it, as I can feel that old anxiety building up in my chest.

 

Although, tonight I am being a bit naughty. Instead of going to class, I’m going to stay home and watch Arsenal vs Tottenham. Shhhh!

 

However, I will still be doing some work, and seeing as tonight’s class is based around the documentary I watched, I am likely to be far better off doing an hour on my own and watching football than I am 2 hours in a classroom.

 

Honestly.

 

Tomorrow’s entry is going to include all the stuff I’ve forgotten to add in today – a 5 hour meeting has left my braindead. So, until tomorrow…

 

Closed Box

Bulgaria’s Abandoned Children

I’d like to digress from my usual quasi-witty entry today by bringing your attention to the shocking and heartbreaking documentary ‘Bulgaria’s Abandoned Children’ – the story of one of many homes for children with mental problems in Bulgaria.

(or http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=944239315372248151)

I have to watch this as part of my psychology course to examine the roles of positive parental influences in basic mental growth, but should you chose to watch it, please bear in mind that it contains graphic and disturbing images, nudity, and will probably make you want to drop to your knees and thank everything holy that you live in a world where this is not considered the norm.

EDIT: This is the official synopsis: Director Kate Blewett visits a children’s care home in Bulgaria and investigates the conditions in which the children live. Following the completion of the film, the production team offered the Bulgarian Embassy in London the opportunity to comment on the findings made in the course of filming the documentary: The Social Care Home – where 75 unwanted children are growing up – is the main employer in the small village of Mogilino. Few of the children can talk, not necessarily because they are unable but rather because no one has ever taught them how. Kate meets the children in this tragic, silent world, such as Milan, the gentle giant who spends his days doing chores and watching over the others, and mildly autistic 18-year-old Didi, who is able to talk, and has plenty to say, but no one to speak to. The children that surround them suffer a variety of problems, many are blind or deaf and some are unable to leave their beds, many are literally wasting away. Abandoned into the hands of the staff at Mogilino these children inhabit a bleak uncaring world, so devoid of normal everyday stimulus that many have taken to rocking slowly and constantly in their chairs just for something to do. Bulgaria has more institutionalised mentally and physically disabled children than anywhere else in Europe. This film is a heart-rending and eye-opening look into the life of one such institution.

Normal service will be resumed tomorrow.

Closed Box

Esto fin de semana pasado

Good afternoon blog fans!

 

Sorry for the delay in posting – this morning has seen a major struggle for mojo, though I did manage to coin the term ‘pubic connotations’. Feel free to use that one as you wish.

 

And so, another weekend is behind us. For me, this included viewing a flat with a bathroom in the wardrobe, having one of those priceless moments where you go clothes shopping and find exactly what you want, birthday drinks on Saturday night, and a date number two.

 

I’m not even going to tell you about Saturday night beyond it being fun and much breezier than I had imagined. My Polaroid, despite being the size of a brick, made many an appearance, and so the part of today’s blog that deals with my birthday drinks thing will be told in picture form:

Kissing my best friend of 19 years

 

As you can see, I am very, very funny. (allegedly)

 

2 Mojitos + 4 straws = trouble

Around midnight, the party could have gone one of two ways. Those dependent on London’s tube network were making their respective exits, and some were looking to stay. I was very much in the clutches of a ‘6 Mojitos, but don’t want to get drunk and repeat a hangover like last time’ mood, and there was a clear choice to be made – either to go home and cap our enjoyment at that point, or to go out somewhere else, and get a bit carried away.

 

I was not especially enthusiastic about the prospect of further drinking, and then, at about midnight, there was some big football news, and that sealed the deal. Half an hour later, half-drunk and in my underwear, I was watching the sports news, and promptly fell asleep, waking up with a terrible pain in my neck some five hours later.

 

Sunday, and a late and very large lunch was followed by a date number 2 with Alex.

 

The date was lovely, Alex and I get on great – she’s 30, originally from Manchester, gorgeous, tiny, and great to hang out with.

 

But something has been getting to me recently, and, in the midst of this otherwise horribly pedestrian blog entry, perhaps I can come to some sort of philosophical conclusion about how I feel about it.

 

Basically, I am of an age –grand old 29 – where my penchant for the older (than me) lady means that conversation generally turns to families and children. This in itself is not really a problem for me, as I want both, but I am no-where near ready.

 

Alex is 30, and successful, and though nothing is pressing, or imminent, the idea of children and wanting to be a young family does play on her mind. In my own mind, I have a fear of this – partly because of the above, but I do wonder if just a part of me is scared about facing this next step of life, and scared of repeating the same mistakes of my father.

 

It is that same fear which returned me home, and I feel now, faced with the prospect of moving out somewhere new. It is a fear of the unknown, and the uncontrollable. I will face it, of course, but I cannot ignore the feeling…

 

Anyway ladies and gentleman, you’ll have to excuse the somewhat disjointed and sombre tone – I am really struggling to stay awake today.

 

Until tomorrow, when things’ll pick up, promise

Closed Box