A happy man

Unhappy men are all alike; some wound they suffered long ago, some wish denied, some blow to pride, some kindling spark of love put out by scorn – or worse, indifference – cleaves to them, and they to it and so they live each day within a shroud of yesterdays.

I’m not sure what it is exactly, but it’s palpable, it’s with me nearly all the time and it’s getting worse; this feeling of what’s the point, who cares, why bother. I’ve gone from someone who, at times, could summon up a bit of enthusiasm for some things to this person who really couldn’t care less about practically everything. Work holds no interest for me at all, I long, ache for weekends or annual leave, all the time. My manner at work borders, at times, a stroppy teenager and at home I’m miserable, lethargic and bored and I don’t know how to snap out of it.
The happy man does not look back: He doesn’t look ahead: He lives in the present.

The rub is that the present can never deliver one thing: meaning. The ways of happiness and meaning are not the same. To find happiness, a man need only to live in the moment: he need only live for the moment. But if he wants meaning – the meaning of his dreams, his secrets, his life – a man must reinhabit his past, however dark, and live for the future, however uncertain. Thus nature dangles happiness and meaning before us all insisting only that we choose between them.
Sigh...anyway, back to my OU work, which, you've guessed it, I am not enthused about, not one little bit. One thing I have accepted though, about myself like, is that being idle makes things worse, keeping busy wards off the depression - problem is, I'm incredibly lazy! so naturally, I gravitate towards the bed and then onto dark thoughts - in a vicious cycle see?

New Forest

We spent a few days in a mates cottage in the New Forest; it rained almost all of the time, but it was great!

New Forest

You are Sting!

The missus’ path to eastern enlightenment took a new path recently, not content with the belly dancing - she’s now trying out, or rather I am; the phoenix thrust method in bed! Now, I’m baffled why we need to try this method out at all, but to go along I agreed the other morning. Basically, it’s a method couples try to improve the longevity and intensity of sex…like I say, not sure why she’s insistent we incorporate it into our routine, but anything for a quiet life. Anyone familiar with the method will know that a man starts off with say, 8 shallow thrusting motions, then one deep one, then 7 shallow, 2 deep, 6 shallow, 3 deep etc until you get to the end, 1 shallow, 7 deep, then you start all over again; thing is, when I got to the end of the first cycle (yes, I did manage to get to the end ya cants) and started again, I quickly lost count, 3 shallow, 4 deep, 5 deep, 3 deep, one shallow…oh…god…and the missus, who’s a very perceptive women quickly deduced I’d lost count, patted me on the back and held on for dear life as my method turned to madness, then stopped altogether, before rolling off and grinning up at her like a good boy who’s learnt a new trick.

I dunno how Sting can keep this kinda eastern lovemaking up to be honest, it must take an enormous amount of stamina; I know I was exhausted and would be uncomfortable trying it again in a hurry

Half term

Ahh a week off with the smashers at half term, could I be any more content?…well, yes, obviously, but it beats work, just about. The missus has taken them off swimming while I pretend to do some OU work. I’m suffering a little bit because last night I went out drinking with my Ware friends. I was the instigator and the social whirl introducing each to one another and for the most part it worked well. You know how it can be when you are friends with one guy and want your other mate to be friends with them too, so like, you can be in a gang and that, but sometimes mate one doesn’t like mate two and you are in the middle having to choose sides, but until you do, you bitch about one to the other and vice versa innit. One of them is a copper but I didn’t introduce him as such, as it’s not fair on him, but when one of the guys started talking about bashing his bitch about because she wasn’t whoring enough to feed his habit up-side her- heed I had to step in with a firm kick to his shins under the table while jerking me head in the coppers direction making pig noises. He took the hint and shut his trap, leaving shortly after.

Tomorrow we all head off to the new forest to a cottage my mate has kindly lent me. It’ll be a nice wee break even though the missus is threatening more severe belt tightening times ahead, which is worrying for me, as I’ve not managed to get into a size 34 inch waste for a number of years now. So, they'll be little in the way of pub lunches and fancy days out, more long walks in the fresh air followed by home made sarnie lunches with a buicut treat for afters. nice.

Snow joke - geddit?

Today I am ‘working from home’ except without the quotes because I really am working actually, so there!

It’s snowing outside, so all the schools are closed naturally and the trains are fecked and so rather than force my way in this morning, I sensibly stayed in bed. I forewarned as many people as possible yesterday that there was a possibility that I may not be able to get in, like when people begin to cough and sneeze at work, to alert people that they are ‘ill’ and that there’s a strong chance they’ll be off the following day.

I’m upstairs, writing my performance plan bullshit, but needs must as it’s the way to get a nice pay rise, fingers crossed; Steve has done this and that and the other this year, ain’t he done awfully well, give him a pay rise. Nice. Downstairs the kids are drying off after sledging down our hill outside all morning and the missus has her arab music one, practicing her belly dancing routine she’s become obsessed with lately. Mind you, the other night she did a turn for me and I must say I achieved a rare semi-lob-on right there on the sofa, godamnit and that’ not to be, er, sniffed at, especially after a hard day at work I can tell ya!

link to my snow scene, enjoy.

Moral maze

Ever wondered about small deceptions and how they can sometimes spiral out of control, so that you don’t know which way is up anymore? Blimey, I have!

The other day, the missus, looking over our finances, declared my drinking habit was draining all our spare resources and to stop the flood, decided, unilaterally, that instead of buying 2 bottles of red wine for me for my weekend enjoyment, she’d reduce it to one bottle, thereby making a grand saving of about £3 a week, or, as she put it, £12 a month. Half listening, I agreed that an extra £12 would be very handy alright; so she took that as assent and this weekend I found only one bottle in the fridge.

Now, this is where it the moral maze kicks in because walking home Friday evening I nipped into the offie for a nice bottle of red. Because I’d had a shit week and I was stressed, and thirsty and sleepy and depressed and figured one bottle would not be enough. Really.

My stash firmly wedged down the bottom of my bag, I strolled into the house that night, kissed the missus goodbye as she went off to work, packed the kids off to bed, then cracked open my bottle. An hour later, bottle empty and the beginnings of doubt and trepidation began to nibble away at my confidence and fool-proof plan, for I knew, when the missus returned from work that night, she’d instinctively know I’d been drinking; call it her 6^th sense. She’d go into the kitchen, see the full bottle of red she’d bought me, still sitting in the fridge, put 2 and 2 together and make one hell of an assumption, the correct one, but still, how very dare she!

So, I’d need to make inroads in that bottle too! So that she’d:

A: Know I’ve had a drink

B: Check the fridge and see some booze clearly consumed

C: Pat herself on the back that she could still rely on her hunches being correct.

My problem, certainly the next day at any rate, were more of a health concern issue, drinking a bottle and a half of red wine, does tend to leave one a little cloudy the next morning; would she notice this? Begin to ask awkward questions? I had to make the decision, make the call, so opened up the bottle she’d bought me, drank half of it, even though by now I was ready to call it a night, and take my chances the next day by getting up early to take the smasher out to football practice to let the hangover dissipate and somehow disappear the empty bottle of wine in my own good time.

So far, seems to have worked, but I feel uneasy, I’ve won this one, but it doesn’t feel right. Y’know?