Hello readers, its Brother Burrito here (“yet again”, I hear you groan).
I beg your indulgence, and especially that of my blog colleagues, because my health has taken a down-turn recently, and this has made me a little self-observant. In the past I have often written from experience because that is all I have to write from. I don’t think anyone could see my life as noteworthy or exciting (except my mother, perhaps), but I intuit that many people feel the same way about their own lives, and so I instantly find myself in solidarity with them, in my mediocrity.
I wasn’t a rebellious teenager, at all. In fact my mum asked me once why I was so dang docile. I didn’t know the answer because I did not know what docile meant. I messed up at school for sure, but learned from my mistakes and succeeded academically before I left. I just learned nothing about teenage angst and confusion and turmoil and loneliness while I was a teenager. This was a very poor preparation for adult life. I entered the proving oven of university and beyond with barely any leavening in me. Like a sour-dough, we are meant to be leavened by the wild yeasts that enter the brew unintentionally. My upbringing had been too clean
Short-cuts always make for long delays. I finally came a-cropper in my late twenties when I suddenly found myself bereft of all the people and things I had become dependent on. My romance had gone south and my friends had deserted me because they thought I had gone weird, but the hardest part was when my Psion Organiser 2, which held all my contacts, died without warning, just when I needed it most. Why hadn’t I just written stuff down on paper? Geek-pride, I suppose. I was up the creek without a paddle.
It took a lot of digging to get me out of that pothole in my life, and this taught me a lot about soul survival. I was then living in a hospital room, and owned no property. Existence was very day to day. In my loneliness I hooked up with a nurse I worked with who was in similar straits. It didn’t last long, and just left us both feeling worse than before we’d met. Emergency romance is never a good idea.
I came upon this song by New Order called “Regret”. The tune is melodic to my ears, and the lyrics resonate with my experiences of that time closely enough. The closing septuplet is particularly resonant:
I would like a place I could call my own
Have a conversation on the telephone
Wake up every day that would be a start
I would not complain about my wounded heart
Just wait till tomorrow
I guess that’s what they all say
Just before they fall apart.
PS: My concentration and memory are so poor at the moment that I can hardly read a paragraph of text without losing the thread. I have been consuming music videos instead. The music helps my train of thought. I can only compose articles by making up the sentences as I go along, and then regularly proof reading it. Perhaps Toad can confirm that’s how the professionals do it? God bless!