Telling it straight

I had to write an additional statement today, for the divorce court.

They wanted the extra information to include specific days and dates and instances and places and people.

It was difficult to go through the detail of everything.

Painful.

Hurtful.

But I couldn’t say ‘no’, obviously.

As a result of having to spell everything out, I’m feeling a bit sad this evening.

But the job’s done.

ps: The papers were delivered to her flat, somehow (and don’t ask how!) they ‘accidentally got caught up’ in her post redirection. I’m just wondering what the legality of a respondent receiving papers *about* her, is…?  Isn’t the act of receiving a legal document not intended for you, actually illegal?

Big girl’s blouse

Things to do. Things not to do.

Today, despite being (in my head and externally) normal/cheery, I feel (in my heart) incredibly weepy.

Grief (or the act of grieving) seems to be sitting squarely and suffocatingly heavily around my shoulders.

Al I can think of is what I’ve lost (everything), and compare that to what’s left (…….) .

Still, onwards and upwards.

I have decided that I’m going to live the rest of my life alone.

Which looks very odd when I see it like that, but the decision is resolute.

I’m not planning on becoming celibate; given what passes for ‘normal’ in my libido, that seems very unlikely.

But I have decided to be by myself; keep my own company.

I can’t imagine putting any emotional trust in anyone ever again.

Speaking of trust.

I have to go to Cheltenham tomorrow. It will be, from an analytical point interesting to see how strong the desire to pull certain searches might be.

Today I will be buying a new iron.

And trying not to weep.

Getting mad. And getting even?

It is *checks watch* 3.30pm, but I’m going to publish this post on a time-release.

I have spent the last hour in tears. It feels as though I have nothing left, no future, nothing to carry on for.

I am now angry at my childish naivety; that I let this woman almost destroy my life with her first affair, and forgave her and rebuilt our lives together, so she could have another go at ripping everything away from me.

Her first affair was bad enough, but the things she has done to me this time, coupled with the brutal manner she has done them, have killed me.

I have gone back over the secret blog and edited the entries to include the names of the people she’s been fucking and/or fucking about with.

I don’t know what’s left for me. I don’t see any future, just bleakness.

Nothing wrong at all

The last couple of days I’ve been feeling worse than down.

Angry.

Annoyed.

Frustrated.

A bit of rage.

And just a touch depressed.

For no reason. I just am.

I feel as happy and as carefree as Van Morrison.

Miserable bugger that he is.

I haven’t felt this down for ages. Maybe just over a year.

It feels a little as if I’m surrounded by absolute fuckwits.

Tolerance levels = zero.

Bollocks to it all.

Wise words for the stupid

Once again I find myself repeating what is probably going to become my mantra for 2011: ‘Context is everything’.

The late Kurt Vonnegut wrote some pretty good work, but his real skill wasn’t as a writer, per se, it was as an observational satirist.

What he found easy was exploiting the societal weaknesses, highlighting the structures of irrationality that we sometimes build around us.

Because he had a keen brain that looked for the satire, Vonnegut expressed opinions on many things.

As a result, he is oft quoted, particularly by late-teens schoolchildren, as if repeating his words imbues the speaker with a degree of higher knowledge.

Or wisdom.

And so it was when I was a late-teen schoolchild.

Today I saw someone deriding this NHS poster with the words ‘Who says we don’t live in a nanny state’:

I’ll let you think on their words and this poster, given two factors:

  1. That there are those in our society who aren’t as bright as you or I and who, frankly, *need* to have detailed information on how to clean themselves
  2. That the NHS produce generic information leaflets like this, most of which will go in to institutions where some people are heavily medicated, and aren’t allowed out by themselves

But the thing that got my ire was that the person who chose to ridicule this NHS poster quoted, not long afterwards, Vonnegut:

‘You cannot be a good writer of serious fiction if you are not depressed’

This is, plainly, bollocks, and a good example of why Vonnegut sometimes dropped the ball.

Depression is no more a condition for elevating a shit writer of serious fiction to ‘good’, than is baldness. Or acne. Or suffering hallucinations.

Vonnegut could not have written Slaughterhouse Five if he was a shit writer with terminal depression, no more than I could write Ender’s Game (Scott-Card) if I was a manic depressive.

Which Scott-Card isn’t.

So here, because this really minor thing has obviously got my goat, is a nanny stateised version of the Vonnegut quote:

‘You cannot be a good writer of serious fiction

  1. If you are not depressed (nb. this statement may not be true)
  2. if you are not a good writer of serious fiction
  3. if you cannot read
  4. if you don’t know the rules of narrative
  5. if you are not aware of the differences between active and passive voices
  6. if you do not know the rules of tense consistency
  7. if you cannot write with flair and imagination and, above all, accuracy’
  8. if you have no ability’

Sorry, I don’t know why someone who has depression (the person who highlighted the NHS poster and used the Vonnegut quote) effectively saying, ‘Look at me, I’ve got depression, I’m going to be a great writer’ – when they are actually borderline illiterate looking for excuses for not being much cop with the business end of English literature – has so annoyed me.

But it has.

I shall go and make breakfast now. It might make me less annoyed.

p.s. Vonnegut’s ‘If God were alive today, he’d be an atheist’ is tempered by Scott-Card’s activism within The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Hypocrites Saints

The ecstasy and the agony

Juxtaposed title with apologies to Irving Stone, amongst others

There is so much shit and grief going on in my life at the moment that I thought I’d write down one – just one – example of ‘good news/bad news’.

Yesterday I won £120.

I don’t normally bet. According to my account at the bookies I’ve placed five bets in the last fourteen months, so it’s safe to say that I’m not what you might call ‘a regular’. I only bet on horses that are related to horses that I own/have owned. That’s my strategy, it’s that simple.

Horses related to my lovely and much-missed Beech have paid for a variety of things from ‘a couple of boxes of cream cakes’ for my colleagues in the office to a new dressage saddle – for Beech! That pot of cash was won by his half-brother. Beech hated dressage so I expect there were some ferrociously stern vibrations travelling back up the equine version of the jungle telegraph on that one.

But I digress.

Yesterday a full cousin to Beech was running in the first race of the Cheltenham festival. I didn’t even look at the odds. I recognised the name – Go Native - went online and slapped a tenner on to win.

Yesterday evening I checked the results and was thrilled for the entire Be My Native line of breeding to see that Go Native had come in at 12/1.

£120! Result!

I offered a big ‘thank you’ to Beech and his relative and shut down my laptop. ‘Windows is installing 1 of 4 updates’ said the message. I thought nothing of it. Until this morning.

Yep, I thought nothing of it until this morning when I tried to start up my laptop.

‘Tried’ as in I wanted it to but it couldn’t be arsed. My diagnosis is that something in Microsoft’s Windows update of last night is conflicting big-time with my AVG antivirus installation.

Cost of repairing this critical problem?

£117.

I know I should be grateful that I’m £3 up on the last 24 hours, but this one good news/bad news story really sums up the way my fucking life is going at the moment.

Thank you

I just want to say thank you for all the wishes and stuff. I’ve had the worst kind of knock, well no, the worst kind of knock is when you find your four month-old daughter dead in her cot, but this feels as bad and yes I would know.

But I’m coping with help from friends (real and virtual) and it’s amazing how supportive all this really is.

If you’ve been with me from the start of this one (or even since the start of my first one – http://fictionrus.blogspot.com – since March 2004) you’ll know how much I love my blog, treat it as my online journal, and that it is a no-holds-barred place where everything gets written down that comes in to my head or falls in to my life?

Well I’m not sure the details of this knock will. Instead of standing up and taking a swing at it I might duck this one.

This week has been dire for me but marvellous for my weight loss (total food since Sunday up until last night: one bowl of soup and one bowl of pasta).

But I just want to say thanks. I’ll creep back gradually I guess.

x

p.s. I’m closing comments on this post because then you won’t feel you have to write something in response and I won’t get embarrassed reading it. Deal? 🙂

Yesterday

I know that you know that I know that you know [pauses for breath] that according to the Serious Academic Nerds (SANs) who study such things, yesterday was supposed to be the Bluest Monday of the Year.

Soupy takes a far less SAN-like approach when she says ‘According to pollsters, today is the most miserable day of the year. A combination of post-Christmas blues, no money as pay day remains out of reach, accumulating bills and seasonal affective disorder means that Brits are feeling more down in the dumps than usual and it was expected that a quarter of the population would call in sick today.’

I thought about it and about what I know.

Four of my friends/colleagues said they had headaches that lasted the weekend and in to Monday. That includes me. And I don’t get headaches.

And then a quick scan through a bunch of my favoured, but very UK-centric, reading material this morning revealed more information about yesterday:
* The London Underground Victoria Line went in to Three-Mile-Island-style meltdown (OK, that’s an exaggeration. But service was majorly disrupted)
* The London Underground Northern Line went – and stayed – due south for a large part of the day
* It poured with rain during the first half of the day on the southern half of the country, with snow in parts in the northern half
* Various roads in the southern half were so waterlogged that normal passage was restricted

All I’m saying is that it seems to me that right there is probably enough reason to have a Bluest Monday of the Year, without even considering adding in the post-Christmas, no money, accumulating bills and SAD factors!