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lukemitchwest's Blog


..it's dancing

Hello! I'm in a hostel in manchester and something in me feels like it's about to burst, so it seems about time I revisited you. Lots of things, as always, since it's beeb a while.

Well lets start on that subject of revisiting. Shortly after my last entry I visited gabrielle in hospital. She was very much the same person, but a tad messier. Everyone else in her ward was a bit scary. Chavs and stuff. They all seemed to love her though. I guess she is a bit of a cutie, and charming when she wants to be. The only other girl was not there very often (because she had kids to visit) and supposedly thought that she was the messiah. The story goes that she said she wanted to kill herself and that is why she got sectioned. I found out more later, and so will you. Chronology is important.

In September hushed late night phone calls and text conversations lasting for hours signalled that my time to visit Helena was coming. I was excited as all hell and in the interim between our last meeting I had only grown to like her more. It's important that I remember now that she was as excited about it as I was, because at this moment it is over and my memory has a habit of trying to paint the memories of this short-lived long distance relationship in a light that could hurt or humiliate me. Travelling alone becomes real and scary when you hand your house/car keys over, since you won't need them. Their constant presence jangling against my hip is rather reassuring. Travelling alone to meet someone you're interested in pursuing some sort of relationship with becomes real and scary at that point and stays consistently real and scary until you see them. I had a number of obstacles before this moment. Not obstacles, really. Just time. When I arrived in London I wasn't to be seeing Helena until the evening, when I'd be seeing her play. So I hung out with my brother for a few hours and we actually had a really good time. Bonding and that. I told him about Gabrielle too. It's just a fun story, really. Especially since my brother and I never really talked about girls together. We did this time. It was nice.

When I first saw Helena, I was wheeling my suitcase towards the national theatre, where she was to be performing. I was on my mobile with my mum. I saw her see me. I quickly made an excuse to end the call with my mum and broke into a full scale run to see her. We embraced. It was.. unsure, at first. I suppose these things tend to be. We hung out for a while. Conversation was somewhat stilted. A bit shy. Both of us nervous, I imagine, wondering if this had been the right idea. She took me to her dressing room so I could leave my suitcase. It was dark. Unsureness is just an absence of taking charge, so I took charge. "C'mere," I said. I don't know if I've mentioned this but "C'mere" seems to be what I say before most kisses. In the dark of her dressing room, we kissed, and it felt like it had been the right idea.
What followed was 2 days of just.. great. We went back to her uni in cambridge hung out in her dorm room and had sex (which, while not the most complicated sex I've had in terms of positioning, might have been the best) a lot. We talked about pretty much everything, and when there was no more to talk about, the silence was a comfortable one. She had E.E. Cummings and Shakespeare in her bookshelf! Hot damn!! Once, after sex, when she was just lying there on top of me, I said to her "ohhh you really like me. I can see it. I can totally tell." This is how I tell someone I love them or have feelings for them. I basically get them to admit it first. Uh, I don't know if I told you (I don't look back at this much) but I once got Georgie to admit she loved me really early with this.
Georgie. I wonder what she's up to. Sometimes I miss her. Well, not her, but first-date-her. She seemed like a fun girl.
Anyway, Helena responded with "I'm just being the cat." This was a reference to something I'd said before, that when I was young a cat used to follow me home from school. When I'd turn to look at it it would stop and pretend that it hadn't been following me. I'd told her that I'd liked how I could tell the cat totally loved me, but it was a subtle kind of love. On reflection, Helena was very much the cat. The moments the love shined through were intense. There was something quite cat-like about her in general actually. Her features seemed as mysterious as they were beautiful, and she'd probably deny it but there was a sort of grace about her. It's lame, so very lame, but in the short time we spent together (aka the time I held in my farts for 48 hours) I grew to love her. Once when we showered together, I gave myself a shampoo mohawk and I saw her looking at me, and I stopped myself. from saying it, I mean. It was too early. It is a decision that, while sound, I have come to regret.

E.E. Cummings, for fucks sake.

After I left part of me wondered the possibility that that could have been the last time I ever saw her. The feeling that I felt in the departure lounge in Edinburgh returned. Like a hole in me. I had a vision of perhaps a continuing relationship, where every time I saw her was simply like setting a delay on that awful, awful feeling. She texted me saying her bed still smelled of me. Plans were made for her to come visit me at Christmas. Even now, I'd have loved that. Hushed, lengthy, late night telephone conversations and almost everlasting texts continued to flow, then falter, then slow. I panicked and wrote a breakup letter-
"Hello! It's me! I made you some buns. Like me they're messy, a little sweet but ultimately well-intentioned.

So I was thinking I don't really know what's going on between us anymore. We don't talk and when we do you don't really seem that into it. The fact is that I have feelings for yo, and they can't be switched on or off at will or drowned in work. I'm not angry, the circumstances just suck. Really hard. I think if there's one thing I will always regret it's holding back from saying I love you, in the shower with you, on that last day. 
Because I do.
And if there's one thing I'll always rememer it's the way you looked at me as we walked home from that italian restaurant and you were embarassed because you thought the vulnerability you had showed me was a weakness and I told you it made you human and I thought you were amazing. I will miss the way your hand feels in mine. They seemed to fit, like lego bricks.

I'd like to keep in touch though, maybe someday things will be different. And I'm always here if you fancy sending another letter and a toffee crisp (double deckers are good too, you big eedjit :P)
Thanks so much, being with you was great. I'm privileged.
Sincerely,
Luke"
I decided instead of sending the letter to cling to the hope that something could happen. Then she couldn't come over at Christmas anymore.
"shit," I said. "when would you next be free for me to see you?"
"Easter," she said.
"So.. is that it?"
"I guess so."
And that was it. Following that there was a really lovely break up. Like, really nice. And she said if I was ever in England she would like to see me again, but circumstances, of course, could be different. And they are. That was in November, and to be honest I still miss her. Surely my mind, my memory, is decorating her, framing her in stained glass and granting her sainthood, because while the time we spent together was constant and loving (about 50 hours.. that's like a bunch of dates, right? :P) it's far too short a time to LOVE someone, or feel this incredible sadness (or perhaps, denial) when I think about how I'll never see her again. I tried to stay away from dating for a while. Give women a break. I couldn't imagine how anyone could equal her, anyway. A girl asked me out, though, so how can I say no to that? It was a girl called Julie who my friends Alan and Ronan were interested in, but I hadn't really paid that much attention to. I didn't really fancy her. But she asked me out!
She asked me out, internet!

We hung out, and she was really lovely. Whip-smart, interesting, funny, kinda sexy. We got along well, too. I didn't really fancy her, but she was nice and I'd have liked to maybe hang out again. We kissed at her door. She texted the next day asking to just be friends. To be honest I didn't quite understand. I felt a bit used. Like, I was trying to stay away from dating, but it felt like I'd been dragged back into it then immediately rejected when it seemed kind of worth it. 

I visited Gabrielle again in hospital for her birthday. Took her out to dinner. She looked well. It was nice. In the end she kissed me (she-kissed-me) and put her hand between my legs.
"I know what I'm doing," she said. I won't deny, it felt nice. Also, that's a pretty hot thing to say! But I stopped her. I DIDN'T ASK TO BE A HERO YOU GUYS
Anyway a friend told me he was in her house around the time she got sectioned- Gabrielle took in a homeless woman in her house ("because no one was supporting me with rab" she said- this is her excuse for a lot of things, so the real reason could be anything. I did everything I could to support her in the past and it was shunned)

Breaking up with Helena was dulled by me getting A NEW JOB. I was able to quit the call centre! And the empire! I'm a support worker in an agency called L'arche now, for people with learning disabilities. It's really satisfying, has less hours altogether and pays more than both the old jobs put together!
Things on that later maybe.

before I got to leave the empire I got one last number from a customer who I thought was pretty. Her name is Alison. Over Christmas we started dating. It was nice! Alan told me that it seemed promising and different that I went on a date with someone and wasn't immediately smitten. No, I just liked her. And as we dated more I grew to like her more. But I had some england gigs booked in February and I thought of maybe visiting Helena, and this was about to become a thing. I still missed her. Still do. so, promising new relationship or invested old one? The window was closing, so I messaged her, telling her I was doing some England gigs in February. She is seeing someone else. And I guess that's it. It sounds like a seedy thing to do, I know, messaging her. But it has freed me of the distraction of the possibility. Now there is only the distraction of my lingering feelings, of course mingling with my growing feelings for Alison. Alison does that immaterial thing that Helena did that I liked, that one thing I could never bloody define or pin. It's something to do with her affection. It just feels different, more real or something. I don't know. I guess it's the cat stuff.

The counsellor I previously talked about was helpful, but only a bit. I didn't feel like I was offloading. He was talking too much and I felt he wasn't making much of an effort.

2014 came in well. I hung out with the old friends at Peter's house. Felt the same mix of boredom and sadness and quiet resentment for them. Thinking they could turn on a dime. Built some bridges with Lisa who I'd lived with and fallen out the most with. Chatted about Becx. Heard she has a new boyfriend, is happy and "over it" so I sent her a text asking if enough time had passed that we could be friends. No response.

One night after work I got a text saying Alison was at the hudson bar, where I also knew the old friends were having a party. I thought I could juggle both, but turns out it's quite hard. Think I ended up alienating the old friends a bit, who probably thought I was there by accident. Alison knows the story with them.
"those are the people you say deserted you? When you saw them it was like you greeted your fan club!"
huh. Maybe she's right. Perhaps I need to step back and look at this year-old resentment. Reassess.


and I will, right when I get this mountain of shit done.
Thanks
 

It's you, it's me

I feel unhealthy if I don't journal for a while. There's a lot that's happened and as usual I feel unable to do it justice.
I still work in the call centre. At times it is actually really pretty good, others it is shit. It has not reached those depths that it reached that I mentioned before, though. I have some money now. Some dreams are starting to seem more achievable. I'm writing more, working harder, and maybe burning out a bit. I started casually dating someone off plentyoffish, but I didn't really fancy her. She didn't look anything like the photos she had put up. They weren't photoshopped or nothin', just old I think. She never addressed this and this bothered me. I felt misled. But we got along well and I was grateful for the company. I don't think she was happy when I stopped seeing her.

I went to Edinburgh for a week with some other comics who are now pretty much my best mates. It was really fun. Loads of really great shows everyday, and some gigs too. I got a number off someone in the street while flyering! She had a cool name too! Nikki Money. Neat, huh? Nothing ever really came of it though, we hung out a little but she was very busy. I thought she was neat though. But on a night out I met a girl I really liked. The alcohol makes it hazy but it seemed like she just emerged from the crowd- like it had parted- and started speaking to me and asking me odd questions like what my favourite animal was and I thought it was pretty awesome and we danced and I didn't even realise clubs in Edinburgh didn't close until 5am until it was 5am and we left and the sun was rising and this gorgeous girl still for some reason wanted to be around me. We pledged to walk to mine and we nearly did, walking the completely-empty streets as dawn accompanied, my hand in her hand feeling proper, like it had been organised for each palm to meet. We had sex in my apartment (I know I can do better than I did, but she seemed happy enough) and spooned and when I woke up she was wearing my shirt and part of me inside wept because I knew this would never happen to me at home, this sexy, smart, funny, gorgeous woman would never have looked at me in Belfast and here she was wearing my shirt. I was in such a good mood I bounded out of the house, bought food and made her a fry. While making it she came in, still just wearing the shirt, and we made it together. There's something great about this girl. She's called Helena, from Bristol, doing a play for the fringe, and we get along like a house on fire. 

We did a thing together, she and I. When I was a kid my family and I went to Edinburgh and I was too scared to go to the Edinburgh dungeons. I resolved as an adult now to come back and conquer it, and never could. I tried on the 4th day of my trip, alone, and couldn't still. The shame threatened to engulf me. On the last day of my trip in Edinburgh and the 2nd day we spent together, Helena went with me. We held hands. The dungeons were fucking terrifying, no way I could've done that alone. We stood in a busy street, looking at each other, ready to part. For supposedly the last time.
"I like the way you smell," she said, "it smells like comfort."
"that's the nicest thing I've ever been told. Look, I don't know about you, but I don't want this to be the last time I see you. I think you're great. I think you're really fucking great." I can't look her in the eye. 
"sure thing, man."
"We're smart, right? We'll think of something." we kissed,
lingered for a second, not wanting to part..
"Thank you for ruining all Northern Irish women for me."
"You've only known me for like 2 days!"
"That's all you needed."
and then she is gone. I thought she was just being polite. I remember sitting in the departure lounge, then the plane, feeling empty and like something had been done to me. But we've kept in touch and I'm going to London to see her at the end of the week! EXCITEMENT!

a few weeks before Edinburgh I was walking home from work when a figure leapt in front of me.
"Don't pretend you haven't seen me!" A familiar voice said. It was Gabrielle. She immediately leapt on me and wrapped her arms and legs round me. Something odd stirred in me. Holding her, for a second, I felt like a man- this is a feeling that my workplace robs. We chat. Even kiss a little bit. She tells me she misses me.
"Here's my number. I lost my mobile, it's my house number. Give me a call sometime. If you want, I mean." She hands me a piece of paper.
"I do," I say, a little unsure.
The next day we actually did meet. She was all dressed up, in a skirt that was crazy high yet still hid even the possibility of her skinny legs joining together at some point. They reminded me of the pause sign on a remote. She showed me a bruise on her leg that she attributed to Rab, so he was still in the picture. Meeting her turned out being a bit of a pain in the hole and reminded me of how annoying our fling had been. She had me drive her about places, where she met bunches of people, got them to buy her drinks and give her cigarettes (never seen her buy one cigarette in her life), didn't introduce me to any of them and periodically disappeared, leaving me with people I'd just met and had very little in common with. It was annoying. I didn't really know why I was there. I guess I wanted sex. It didn't seem worth it. I felt myself getting dragged into her dangerous and infuriating world. So I made my excuse and left. She stuck her tongue in my ear to try and convince me to stay, knowing I liked that. I still left.
 
During Edinburgh I got a call from my friend waqar to tell me that Gabrielle had been detained under the mental health act. She is in a mental hospital now. Weird feeling, being told that your ex has actually been put in a mental hospital. I feel some relief that she's getting help- Waqar said she's dosed up on painkillers and told him some crazy story about a homeless woman living in her house. No idea what's going on with her boyfriend.

Guilt is the emotion I've been experiencing. I did try, didn't I? To support her, to get her out of that abusive relationship, help her grow. Did I abandon her? Did I push it enough?
I remember lying next to her in bed naked during one of the times that Rab was out of the picture and saying to her if she got back with him I'd be gone for good. I said she deserved better, could easily do better and she'd be much happier even alone than with him. But she did get back with him. Like, she just ignored that. I didn't do enough? She didn't do enough. I couldn't drag her out of a relationship.

I went through counselling for six weeks. It was alright. More learning than healing. One thing I liked was a "responsibility pie chart" where if you're blaming yourself you draw up a pie chart and you honestly write down all that is responsible for a bad event, and you start to realise you're not really that responsible. I haven't drawn one for this, but I'm doing one in my head and my slice is.. surprisingly miniscule. I have excused a number of people and things because I have high high expectations of myself, like a bloody messiah complex.

Another thing was the phrase "taking care of x" as compared to "giving care to x". The former implies you're taking care out of yourself and giving it while the latter implies an overabundance of care, with the overflow going to x. The lesson to be learned is that self-care comes first and I was not in the position of overflow with Gabrielle.

Aaaaaaaand that's why I've missed this. Thanks.

9joion

I am curled up on my covers, cat-like. I have to be up in a few hours.
I saw a counsellor for the first time today. He seemed nice, knew what he was talking about. I barely got talking though. I was looking forward to unloading some. Lot of contracting. I have appointments with this counsellor now because a few weeks ago I wanted to be dead. I don't remember if I told you.
I get two days off a week and they are constantly snatched up as fast as they come. next week I am going to try to spend my days off doing what I want. I want to finally climb a mountain.

Like an ugly black thing inside of me, the belief that there is something innately wrong with me that pushes people away grows.

I
am
low

For your delight, oh my.

Ok so that's the miscellanea covered.
Hey there! Been a month? Let's jump right in. At the start of the month I was support act for probably the biggest local comic at the minute on his tour. On the first day I felt a bit odd and did ten minutes when I should have done twenty. The second day, in the armagh marketplace theatre, went pretty well. I did what felt like a fairly solid 20- being a support act feels different, when you look at the crowd they seem so much more smiley because they're definitely there for comedy- but afterwards in the toilets I was using the stall and overheard two oul fellas using the urinals- "That Bartlett fella's great, isn't he? Didn't like the support act though."
"Nah, I thought he just wasn't funny at all."
I started laughing. I wasn't going to just let these ballbags go without an awkward moment. I emerged from the stalls and, laughing, patted them on the back. Told their increasingly embarassed faces that I'd heard worse and different strokes for different folks etc. After the show I hung out with the main act for a bit and some ballbag came over for a photo with him. "I didn't like you at all," he said.  "you were shite, just quit."
"Normal people say hello," I said. He kept talking, with the same shit-eating grin on his face.
"you were just awful, though. I don't want a photo with you."
"I wasn't going to give you one!"
The way he was talking, it was like he actually took offense at my trying to be funny and he was trying his damndest to hurt me. Don't think he saw it working though. Not even sure if I did. I mean, it did, but I was hardly crying.

A lot of stuff in my life has been called into question recently, and that was probably the start of it. Perhaps that which I have questioned most is that which I have always questioned, which is my skill as a counsellor. Am I cut out for it? Am I any good? Are my motives even clean? Sometimes I worry that the whole thing is one big overcompensating comeback to an ex who called me selfish when I was 15. See, I KNOW this isn't true but it still feels sometimes like what if I got into a fucking vocation because someone called me mean once a million years ago? Anyway this came to a head last week when I was in a police station to show my license because I'd been stopped by the popo without one and I noticed someone else in the waiting room was crying. Using my counselling skills I managed to make her feel a little better and find out a bit about her situation (sociopathic ex) before the police took her to the interview room. I felt good after that.
Besides, just because something's your vocation doesn't mean you have to be good at it.

What I mean is the very things that give me a sense of identity have been called into question. I've always questioned my worth as a counsellor, but certain things like those lads at the gigs have made me question my worth as a comic, and other things have made me question my worth as a person. We'll get to both, and their climax, which was basically me weeping down the phone at lifeline saying I wouldn't mind being dead or appreciated a few hours ago.
 

I got a new job. It's in a callcentre and I'm working very, very hard all the time. Someone I hung out with as a teenager is like a team leader there and he seems infinitely cooler and more well-adjusted while I'm still just.. me. Weirdo Luke. The people I work with are nice but have hurt me. They make me feel like a freak sometimes. They get on my tits a bit. They add to the constant feeling within me that I am made one shape and the world another- we don't fit together. They are good people though. I don't think they realise they've done this. They have assigned a funny guy to the group, and it's nice to have the pressure off me. He can bring the rape jokes for them. He's a good kid, actually. If only slightly dodgy and very boastful. Sometimes the things they say ("You're a comedian, be funny", basically) do make me question my worth as a comic though, and a lot of things I've heard them say have me question my worth as a person.

I made a plentyoffish account. I dont really have time to go out looking anymore, see. It's been greeted with some success, in fact. Girls are talking to me! Without me talking to them! It's nice. One in particular, Karolyn, seemed particularly interested, and another, Ashleigh, too. Then I realised they were both best friends and roommates and they didn't realise  I was talking to them both, so I had to stop talking to one of them. Aww.

So I hung out with Kerrie from improv one evening. It was going quite well, actually. We kissed! I got really excited. We seemed to get along really well. Things were looking up. I told her I liked her. The next time I saw her she was well put off. Basically it's because I told her I liked her and that freaks her out or something. I dunno. It's a lame reason so it must have been something else. I didnt buck her so I seemed too relationshippy, maybe. 

Karolyn asked me for drinks one night, in 40 minutes. I turned up, then she was an hour late. Bad times. She was very pretty. Her friend Ashleigh was there too, and they had worked out I had chatted to them both, but it's alright because Ashleigh had gotten back with her boyfriend. It was hard to actually get talking to Karolyn because Ashleigh and her boyfriend were having a tiff and so she kept talking to Karolyn, just sort of leaving me there like a spare dick. Karolyn kept disappearing off to the toilets, also she kept asking me about the counsellor stuff and also even at one point said "maybe I like it when you talk to me like a counsellor" she told me she is anorexic and was once 4 stone. We all went back to their house, which has cats (which is nice) that shit everywhere (which is not). There Ashleigh asked me about a fella called Brendy who I worked with briefly, then she implied he had raped her. Bad times. Her argument with her boyfriend then peaked and she had a panic attack outside with tears and all and he had to take her for a drive to calm her down. Her boyfriend seemed to be a good person, if a little square. Non-drinker, probably non-swearer (anyone who says frig I tend to be suspicious of) and I think we had some sort of discussion on morality and ethics which I'm alright at. I decided to leave at 3am. I asked Karolyn if she'd like to come outside- the date had been disastrous but if I could just kiss a pretty girl it'd all have been kinda worth it.  She shook her head shyly. Yeah, I think I'm done with that, I thought. The next day SHE texted ME saying she just wanted to be friends. Wasn't that my fuckin' line? See, this plus kerrie has made me think there must be something innately wrong with me. I don't think I'm a bad looking guy, but there there must be something wrong with me as a person. It's pretty depressing. This plus a few bad gigs and everyone in work just mean.. I've been feeling pretty low, basically. Maybe the lowest in a while.
Like calling lifeline and saying sometimes you kinda wish you were dead low. And I think it is time I sought some help. I've been very depressed for some time now. I started crying on the phone when I said it doesn't feel like anyone gives a fuck about me.

Chef prepares a special menu

A short little entry here of miscellanea, things I'd like to remember from the last few months. Reflecting on the whole Gabrielle thing.
1. One time me and Gabrielle spent a day in Lisburn. It was actually close to real romance between the two of us. I felt pretty close to her. Things were going well. I particularly remember driving home late at night, and her asking me to sing because I let on that I used to be able to do that. And sing I did. I sung "Where'er you walk", which was my GCSE music exam piece for my chosen instrument (voice). I was an alright singer. Never passionate about it though. She asked me to sing bring him home from les mis, but I didn't know the words so she fed me each line in her north belfast accent while I did my best to sound like Hugh Jackman driving up the motorway.

2. One time I was about to go into Gabrielle's house when someone in the street looked at me with recognition in his eyes. I sort of vaguely recognised him too, so I let him approach. He started asking me about Chris Henry, who is Gabrielle's drug dealer who lives like 2 doors down from her. I don't really know anything about Chris, so I'm sort of trying to get him to bugger off when Gabrielle opens the front door and, with a smile on her face, waves us both in. The bloke off the street, it turns out, knows her. I can hardly make out a word he's saying because he has an accent that's thick as a brick and a voice that's clearly seen many, many fags. I discern his name is simpson. Andrew or james simpson. Through the paragraphs of indecipherable shit he's spluttering, that's about the majority of what I can work out. He mentions being on ketamine. He says something about how he's had laser eye surgery recently and he needs his drops which he's lost. Gabrielle finds them and administers them. He keeps hitting on her, unaware that she is with me at this time. I keep shtum. Why do I need to stop her from getting with him when he does a fine job all by himself? I figure these days that most women don't like someone white knight-ing for them. When we're alone he mentions he does some charity work or something so I sort of feel a bit more at ease with him for about five seconds before the fucking idiot starts yelling that he lost his sunglasses and eyedrops when they're right in front of him.
Seriously, he was meant to spend like a day recovering with eye drops after the surgery and he can't even last the one day, it seems, without wandering about on ketamine without sunglasses, risking blindness. Anyway, things get sorted and he and I get left alone for a bit. He basically just talks a shitload about how he's "the nicest guy you'll ever meet til you cross me, then you get fucked up". This is a sentence that keeps getting repeated. I think he's trying to put me at ease? neat. He confesses intentions to "get his jam roll", and his method seems to be to continually ask Gabrielle the equivalent of "so how about it? You and me? Sex?" She cites her (at the time) jailed boyfriend as the reason for not having sex with him. She mentions the show that her and I are going to see as an excuse to leave and he keeps on trying to get us to stay. In her house. She starts to get ready to leave, and Simpson and I are alone again. He discusses his failed attempt at pulling. saying it's fair enough that she didn't have sex with him considering her boyfriend was in jail but if he were the boyfriend and he'd heard she'd been sleeping around, the guy she'd been sleeping with better watch out. He looked at me. I think he'd worked it out.
I think he was threatening me. For being.. better than him at what he was trying to do?
He started asking me and Dave to hit him. He said they were "free digs". Dave and I refused to hit him.
How the fuck did that bell-end afford laser eye surgery anyway? Ridiculous.

3. Last week I thought about Georgie for the first time since that proper ended. I remembered one time when she said that she wanted to die sometimes. It was somewhat out of the blue- classic cry for help. Immediate retreat though. Didn't wanna talk about it.
I thought about how absent a boyfriend I'd been, let alone a bad one. I allowed myself to feel pain, her pain, and wept.
Crying is an odd thing for me. People in counselling have told me awful horrific things and I don't bat an eyelid, but a lot of movies just make my eyes watery to the touch. I saw man of steel with Megan a few weeks ago and there were times in the flashbacks when I looked at child superman and imagined the burden on his shoulders and he doesn't even realise how massive are the things he's going to go through and the weight of the earth on his back I just felt my lip wobbling. Or when he watched his own father die and I imagined the guilt and feeling I felt it going too.
Man of Steel, like. Hardly a tearful film.

4. In may I bumped into that girl from february who I kissed and who I went to bed with but didn't sleep with, and largely the same thing happened again. I remember spooning with her to sleep and her snoring and me being so uncomfortably warm but also feeling so confused about why I kept on refusing myself sex and pleasure. I clearly wasn't as "over it" as I thought I was when I bucked Gabrielle. What are my reservations about sex?
Well I've paid attention to myself this time- when sex is on a plate before me, part of me gets convinced that I'm awful about sex and I should somehow delay the sex, go home and read some stuff up on sex so I get good, then come back and have the sex.
But also maybe it's because I think a lot of times and a lot of the people I've had sex with in my life, sex has become linked to shame and embarassment. I need an awful lot of trust in someone before I fuck 'em. And this is an issue.
 
5. Remembered an old chat I had with Becx shortly before we broke up. I remember we were talking about my academic plans for the coming year and how long until I was qualified. I remember it didn't feel like a chat about my future so much as it felt like a chat about ours. She felt like a showbiz mum asking my why I was gonna sparkle onstage. This continues to be one of the 2 relationships I in no way miss (the other one is georgie- I happen to miss sex with Gabrielle)

6. One time when we woke up together Gabrielle told me that she had thrush and that she only got thrush when she was pregnant. I knew it was unlikely but I still spent the following days imagining the possible scenario and how fucked up it would be, being a dad all of a sudden
crazy, huh? crazy. 

We're graced in these matters

So I saw the price of my next years education,  and it's not expensive and I can afford it, but it's also a bit much. That'll nearly be the end of my student loan, which was there as a safety net because my job never pays enough. It was there so I'd be able to at least relax about money for a while. Well, it's nearly gone. So I'm worried about money again. I've barely been able to sleep. Even meditation is having little effect. I've not been as fast at applying for jobs as I was before either. I can only seem to muster about 3-4 a day. Interesting what this says about myself. Can't seem to look a problem in the eye without losing focus.

When I was drunk last week I thought I missed Emily, but it was simply just that I was drunk and she is the only ex who wasn't mental or doesnt hate me now. Facebook just told me it was her birthday and I hadn't even realised. I think this is the first year it hadn't crossed my mind in advance. That does not sound like the action of a still-smitten man. Perhaps I am getting better every day, emile coule style.

Read a book called a simple act of gratitude, in which one man demonstrating gratefulness increases his mental wellbeing and basically repairs his life. I'm going to start sending out thank you letters maybe. That's what he did.

The career advisor won me back, by the way. She gave a shit and knew what she was talking about.

I know now that the loneliness I generally feel is an irrational loneliness and I am loved and do have friends, but this has not dispelled it. Megan said something similar, so maybe I should talk to her. I'm thinking of moving into her house next year, it's extremely low-rent. This could be the cure. Being physically close to someone who I am genuinely close to. I don't think we could fall out, either. Other than that socially I haven't been so bad- been hanging around with comics more. One or two in particular have been particularly easing to be around. I got Kerrie's number which is neat, though I still don't know whether or not she's interested. (she's that improv girl I liked)

Someone whom I care for though am not particularly close to has ended up in hospital recently. I didn't know what for but I assumed it was for her eating disorder. I did a bit of detective work- found out through facebook what hospital and ward she was in, and commenced operation: surprise visit. I always thought she was the very model of a good person, so I needed to bring a gift. Rule 1 of eating disorders is that chocolate is a bad gift. Flowers were cliche. I was a little stumped. Then I saw the chicken. The chicken is a big cuddly toy my parents got me for easter. It's lovely but there simply wasn't room for it in my bed. I brought the chicken. I walked down to the hospital holding its hand. In the lift I reflected how I'd been in hospitals too often recently- once for my foreskin, another for my dad (he got something called Bells Palsy, some of the symptoms are similar to a stroke, I shat myself), and now this. After briefly getting lost I found Rebecca in her bed, surrounded by pink. She looked so skinny, but in good spirits. My heart broke. We talked. She explained that she had no memory of the last 3 weeks including finishing her schoolwork. She said that apparently once she had finished her body just up and rejected food constantly, she ended up back at 3 stone and nearly died. She was being fed through a tube for now. I was completely in awe of her strength at being so positive, and so very, very nice- she is entirely focused on bringing happiness to all around her- despite everything. I know that's a cheesy thing that people say, but it's true. She said her short term memory was affected at the minute and I could sort of see it because sometimes she asked a question or said something she'd already asked five minutes ago. you'll forgive my badly worded account of all this, I'm just getting across the key points of the whole situation. It's late.
"I managed a whole mars bar yesterday," She was telling me, "Those things are just awful, aren't they?" I laughed, but the whole time I just wanted to cry. She said she was actually meant to be upstairs in a different ward "with the other anorexics", but she was so loved in her current ward that they fought for her to stay there. "I'm glad," she said, "because there's a lot of them who are pro-anorexia and it could just make me worse and I'm so ready to be free of this, Luke, I just want to be free." I do not exaggerate when I say that the way she said it was so full of this mix of hope and longing that it just tore me up inside. She said she wanted me to be there when she finally tackles her first pizza, and to choose her favourite flavour of ice cream ("you seem like a honeycomb kinda gal" I told her). Finally I got up to leave, and she told me she'd walk me out. She got out of bed and my heart broke one final time when I saw how much her limbs had shrunk. When I got back in the lift I just had a little cry.

These things are good for me, though. Sometimes when it's been ages since I've cried I worry I've lost the ability or become emotionally dead.

I don't know. Life is not uneventful, I suppose. I can at least be grateful for that.

plotz

Yesterday marks a week since the last time I wanked. It's taking its toll. Last night a friend told me not even to try a gentle one. He had a similar operation, had a gentle wank and it gave him an infection. Boners hurt, straining against the stitches. Makes me think of Gullivers travels, when the lilliputians all tied him down and he tried to break free. Or the hulk breaking out of his clothes. And I think this is why priests usually turn out to be sexual deviants. The less I wank the more aggressive my sexual fantasies get. Last night I was watching Louis Theroux's documentary on the westboro baptist church and I remember looking at one of the phelps women, Jayl or something her name was, holding her signs, and thinking.. she'd get it. She'd get it bad. And mercilessly.

Last night was meant to be my first shift back at work but I couldn't handle it. I left after about 3 hours, near in tears of pain. Wacky had his first gig though, and I thought instead of going home I should go support him. So I hobbled up. I missed his spot but he seemed to think it went well enough, so that's good! Gabrielle was there and it wasn't really that awkward, she was being a bit passive-aggressive but otherwise was grand. The other comics were all very nice about my op and that, which is good because I expected them to think I was milking it on facebook (I was, but for laughs rather than sympathy, which I think is a purer cause- turning something painful into something funny etc). I gave Gabrielle a lift home, and we chatted for a bit. I always get a bit awkward around her, to be honest. I'm scared of her. Here's a perfect example of how suddenly she can turn on you and get bitchy. 
"Did I tell you my toe is broken?" (she's been complaining about it because wacky jokingly kicked it about a month ago)
"No, that sucks."
"And I've been doing ballet on it for weeks, so it might be permanently damaged, and the other toe isn't helping."
"Awww shit! What other toe?"
"Well Luke, if you were my FRIEND you'd REMEMBER I told you once how I broke my toe when our house got burgled." And if she hadn't arrived at her destination by that point I predict that would have turned into a big long rambling rant about how awful I am and just now typing this out I'm starting to see she's at least partly responsible for these feelings of depression I've been having.
It's so hard sometimes to get out of the reality that someone abusive creates around you, though. So easy to believe the hurtful shit she says when she goes off on one. And she wraps it all up and pretends it's advice, screaming "I'm only saying this because I'm your friend". Wacky said once "She says that, but what has she ever done for you though?" Was like a fog had lifted. She'd done nothing, really. She'd only taken. Money, lifts, affection, support. Take take take and no give.

I'm still watching a lot of TED talks. Educatin' myself. Watched a talk on domestic violence, and how the question "why don't abused spouses just leave?"  is an inherently hurtful question, as it places blame on the abused spouse, as if, and I quote the talk, "As if they are to blame for falling in love with the wrong person." And it's right, of course. It made me feel guilt, for cutting myself off from Gabrielle. Like I was blaming her for being in an abusive relationship and coming back to him the times she had a chance to escape. But writing this down, with a slightly more objective perspective, I see the truth. Abused spouses and partners need all the help and support they can get, but I'm just a guy who she was having an affair with, and I've done nearly everything that I can. It's not that I haven't done enough, it's that I simply am not enough. She needs more. I'm not even a qualified counsellor and I'm acting like I have the responsibilities of one. I'm twenty-fucking two! I can't help someone who, bottom line, doesn't want help. And who lashes out at me every step of the way, in as hurtful a way as she can muster.
Mood is improving. Going to keep writing.

Booked a careers advice session in college. I've booked my courses for next year and I'm on the right track but I still have some questions. I'm giving careers advisors one last chance to win me over. Every careers advisor I've ever met has been fucking abysmal and I normally know more than they do and they always try and fob me off or palm me away. Fuck that shit. I've written my questions down and I'm not gonna leave until they're answered.

When I'm writing these I usually start off by writing in shorthand what I'm going to expand upon in the blog. And right where you're reading this there was meant to be a big worrying paragraph where I was going to talk about the black hole in me that says that I've never forged a meaningful friendship or connection with anyone and nobody will really love me and how in terms of relationships I'm losing hope despite the fact that I really don't think I'm asking for much out of a woman and how my body has always betrayed me, like when I was 14 I'd stop eating and lose no weight or how this foreskin thing has been shit all my life and affected my confidence, but in writing the previous stuff all those fears have melted away.  I have remembered I am loved, my life has purpose and my body? well that's just a bunch of bad coincidences  My body has been better recently and I can't deny that. When this cock of mine heals that's one less issue for me to worry about gone for life.

Maybe I'm no different to anyone else and this is just what happens when I have a quiet day with nothing on and I look at facebook and see all the people having fun. I do remember reading that regular facebook users have higher risk of depression. something to think about.

Cut, part 2

Last night I did a gig. I should perhaps not have done a gig 2 days after being circumcised, but I'm pushing myself here. I want to be back to normal as soon as possible. The gig was a comedy competition, and I'd done it the week before- however, I did a different ten minutes, some of which was about my operation. I maybe shouldn't have entered the same competition 2 weeks in a row- it looks like I'm desperate to win- but, um, I was. And it's kinda awful to admit that. Any comedian will tell you competitions are frustrating and mostly bullshit. Either it's audience vote so some new guy doing his first set who brought all his mates will win undeservedly, or it's some judges (IE other comics) who will vote for their mate or whatever. And this is truth. But I've been doing stand-up for nearly 2 years now and for all my parents know I've been shite this whole time. I'd rather not have them see me perform so it's nice to have some sort of proof (half the prize was a framed certificate, see). Anyway I won this time, and immediately felt guilty. Did I guilt the vote over to my side with talk of circumcision, robbing the more deserving runner-up (a great act called Tom Flight) of a prize? I dunno. But my parents have loved the certificate. It's a bit of a weight off my shoulders to say the least. Why do I feel guilty of success the moment I get a droplet of it? Maybe it's one of those rare moments where I'm as good a person as I'd like to be. I left afterwards to see another gig, and a girl who I've fancied from improv was there! I sat next to her and we got to chat briefly. I thought she was involved with our improv instructor, but she wasn't! And she thought I was involved with Gabrielle, but I've not been for ages! Circumcision came up- she said she had an ex who had it done and it was all cheesy. "an air of fromage," she said.
"only you could make that sound classy", I said. that was all we were able to ascertain from our brief chat. I was about to ask her for her number but our improv instructor sat down next to us and I can only assume he has a crush on her and it would be bad craic to do such a thing in front of someone who I respect.

BEEN THINKIN' BOUT MORALS, INTERNET. A few weeks ago after a night out I found myself walking alone to a mcdonalds in the centre of town. Saw a man and woman walk past me. My headphones were broken, so they thought I couldn't hear. The guy was talking. "See you can't trust anyone in this world, right? Only yourself. Even in a chippy like the one ahead you just give 'em one word answers if you don't know 'em, otherwise they'll just take advantage." In the mcdonalds, I spotted the girl at the counter. The guy was gone.
"excuse me," I said, "I couldn't help overhearing what your boy said earlier. About talking to and trusting people."
"aye" his lesson had clearly sunk in.
"I wouldn't believe in that. People can be nasty, I won't argue against that, but if you trust nobody you'll live half a life." It's hard to argue passionately when you're a bit drunk. 
"He's my cousin, and I think he's talking shite anyway, but fair play to you."
My work there clearly done, I ventured out into the night. I befriended a group of strangers heading in the same direction. We had banter for a bit. I saw a sleeping tramp in a doorway. I fished in my pockets, took out all the money I had left. A single 2p coin. I flipped the coin over so it would land in front of him, not waking him up. One of the lads I was with suddenly piped up "that's not cool, man. 2p is insulting." 
"you'd rather he have nothing? Because that's how much you gave him. Listen, I work in a bar, and I save 2ps. Because it adds up. If I can find them important so can he. If he finds it insulting he isn't taking his situation seriously enough. He's sleeping in a doorway."
"Mate I don't give a fuck, don't give me this whole 'I work in a bar, I'm such a good person' bullshit."
"I wasn't! I didn't even draw attention to the fact I gave him money! You're the one kicking up a fuss here."
our paths split at this point, I had to cross the road. But we still shouted at each other for a bit. I just shouted "you're ragin' I'm right, YEOO" and pointed at my dick. The four lads stared for a minute, and as one, broke into a run. "oh shit." I ran. I ran past a street cleaner, mumbling "scuse me" as I went. I ran halfway round city hall, and I noticed they were tapering off. Sense of victory for the first time. That jogging must have paid off. I even went back to taunt for a bit- "can't even sprint! YEOOOO!"
I still think it was the right thing to do. The 2p, I mean, not the antagonising.

BEEN THINKIN' BOUT MORALS, INTERNET. When I was giving Gabrielle a lift the other day, on the side of a busy road there was a man, just lying there, against a wall. It was the middle of a sunny day and he was just lying there. He could have been dead. I told Gabrielle I was going to stop.
"He's fine, let him be. I'm going to be late." I told her I couldn't let it be. She said that there's plenty of good people in this world and one of them is going to stop for him. I said those good people have enough on their plate, it's about time I stepped up and lightened their load. That's just what came out of my mouth.
I think it's interesting that I saw myself as someone who helped the good people rather than just as one of the good people. Says something about how I see myself morally. I dropped her off and turned the car round to find him. I'm not going to lie, there were some selfish thoughts in my head. A brief fantasy about saving a persons life then disappearing anonymously. And it made it feel less good. See, when you see good people, truly good people, nobody ever wants to believe it. People question it. When I was having a bitch about some shitty audience members to a comedian the other day he said "that's what I like about you Luke, you're all lovely on the outside but you're angry on the inside like the rest of us"  'like the rest of us.' Because lovely or nice people are like a different species. When you do good things people question your intentions. Thousands of people fucking hate Bono, without really knowing why. I don't care if it's for self-promotion, he's really made a positive difference to the world. Shouldn't there be a point where even if your intentions aren't 100% true and good (and it's rare that they are, and that's alright!!) it's irrelevent because the results you produce are good? Intentions shouldn't really matter when it comes to good deeds! They're only important when it comes to bad! 

BEEN THINKIN' ABOUT MORALS, INTERNET. When, the other week, Gabrielle found out I went to a show with someone other than her or something equally not-that-big-a-deal, she went on another one of her bigass rants about how this is why I'm going to die alone and none of my friends really like me and everyone thinks I'm selfish. The poet Rilkes said that everything terrible is just another thing that needs our love, and that's the way I live my life, but I just couldn't handle it anymore. Because to be with her would mean hating myself. I'm getting stronger against it, lord I am, but the stuff she says is powerful hurtful, and equally uncalled for. And I'm starting to see this is a pattern in the last few people I've been with. I just end up hating myself. And it's not really their fault, but it's just the way it ends up. So I've cut ties with her in a more final way. Breaking up with Becx was about learning to love myself and Gabrielle has been one big speed-bump on the journey. I'm only sorry I couldn't do more for her.
Done thinkin' about morals, internet.

Been helping my friend Wacky with his set for his upcoming first gig, but I can see my advice going over his head all the goddamn time. He isn't listening, it's frustrating. Making me reconsider teaching it.

Before I severed ties with Gabrielle, I was doing improv with her. I don't know if I mentioned this in a previous journal. I'm not so good at this improv. I rush too quickly to gags or the absurd. I've enjoyed it, though. It's been fun to bond with people, fun to do, and a little bit helpful to self-discovery. I like the teacher. I have a lot of respect for anyone who's been saved by an art form. I've noticed my respect is an impairment, though. I've caught myself apologising far too much to him. This used to be a big problem of mine. I never felt like I overcame it in a concrete way, just got more confident. Perhaps this can help me unearth the motivation for it. For one exercise I was secretly told for my character to be paranoid and play it straight. The rest of the class would guess at what my instruction had been afterward. I channelled a time when I'd felt paranoid- when I'd found out Emily cheated on me. I've never been a great actor so this isn't saying much but what followed was probably one of the best performances I ever gave. I almost cried. I felt a lot of things again. Perhaps I'd been repressing them. This is what I meant when I said that improv can be helpful to self-discovery.

Other than that, all that I have to mention is my friend Lynsey reminded me I have friends and I am loved so it's alright. We burned a table on a beach that we accidentally stole 3 years ago.

Brain thoroughly emptied, gracias


cut

I had dinner with my parents last week. I mentioned about my burnout and they actually were very quick to offer advice and some concern. They clearly don't think I'm lazy. Quite the opposite. So why do I feel like people think I'm lazy? And I guess it's work. I have a very relaxed, happy, loving attitude at work and I think it's always been misconstrued as laziness, because I get treated like I do fuck-all most of the time, despite being quite the opposite.  I'm coming to some conclusions about work- for example, that I don't love it, just the people I work with.
The other night I was working the door and my manager asked how many people had turned away when they saw the cover charge in. I said not many. She said it's ok sometimes to let some groups in as she doesn't believe in cover charges and the money should be made from the drinks they buy anyway. I agree. Later on, in front of her, I let in a group of people for free who were about to turn around and go home when they saw the cover charge. She told the head manager about this and I got my face chewed off.
See, there must be some sort of misunderstanding here, because she's a human being and not really an asshole, but I'm sick of this moving-the-goalposts shit that keeps getting pulled on me. This job has probably been a large contributer of negative self-esteem for years, and I've missed a lot of shit due to its late hours. I want out.

In the run up to my circumcision, I bought a shitload of books to keep my brain busy while I recover. I looked up the date in my calendar in the year before to see what I'd been doing, blissfully unaware that this time next year I'd been getting the snip. I see "rest day.. just be. Watch a movie or something. Finally chill out." Becx had written underneath "love becx.. please" then in another "you suck, you were so late." Look at the story that tells. I'd clearly burned myself out again, looked to rest, then Becx basically made me go out and got mad when I was late? ugh ugh UGH. I got all mad again. I should stop doing that.

the circumcision happened yesterday. I got a lift down to mullingar on a minibus with some other people and a humourless but ultimately nice man called Derek. A nurse called Anne gave me my paper gown and a different nurse even filmed me padding about in it for facebook. The anaesthetic was introduced to my system via an iv in my wrist and the sedative was so powerful the point where I started to feel drowsy and the point when I fell asleep were one and the same. I woke up. my throat was so sore, my chest so light. I was coughing. Apparently I had sung Africa as I went under. There was pain in my dick. It felt like a bruise. I gradually realised that it had happened. It was done. I was in the recovery room. A man in the bed across from me smiled. In my painkiller haze, I smiled back. "I got circumcised," I say, "what about you?"
"I had a testicle the size of an apple!" He says, quite jovially. "Good for you!" I say, completely devoid of sarcasm.
the rest of the day is a haze. I just watched parks and recreation mostly.
They were about to let me leave. The nurse tells me I can go if I can pee first. "wish me luck!" I say to the accountant in the bed next to me. I take my first look at my bandaged cock. I've been scared to peek all day. I need to see what I'll be working with. I shout over to the accountant. "It looks alien and I don't know where the piss is meant to come out. I'm scared." and I was scared. Truly terrified. But I made it. I overcome all. I plan on being able to run by next week. I'm putting my mind to this.
When I finally got home at around seven o'clock that night, having got up at 6.30 that morning, I was pretty satisfied with how the whole thing had gone. The day since has been mostly just discomfort and laying about though, Im not mad keen on it.

as a child I was born in a lions mouth

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Life is a game which we all play

There's a lot of fucked up shit happened over the last few weeks. I don't know where to start. I went to a buddhist temple. It was nice. We meditated and sung (didn't like that bit, reminded me too much of the catholic church) and read from the book of a fairly enlightened buddhist bloke. A lot of what was said echoed with things I've thought over the years. I'm pretty snared on the buddhism thing now. 

Gabrielle and her boyfriend are over. She was meant to see him briefly before going to a gig of mine but he managed to pry information out of her and ended up going to the gig WITH her. I was raging. I had to pull my hood up and sneak out. During the rest of the night she befriended another comedian, Kieran Mena. Kieran's a good lad, with a criminal past that I'm vaguely aware of. Kieran ended up going to Gabrielle's house with her and rab, where Rab freaked out AGAIN because he thought someone had stolen some of his grass. He hit her AGAIN, and suddenly kieran was in the same situation I had been in. Kieran has connections, though, so was able to start making IRA-related threats and shit. The police were called and Rab was jailed for a few nights, which is good because he'd only end up coming back all the fucking time again. She says he doesn't want anything to do with her, but he's an idiot so he'll probably be back.

Gabrielle was meant to see a show with me on Friday night a few weeks ago. I knew we were going to be late, she kept on asking for detours and shit. At one point she was brushing her teeth and taking ages and I was waiting on her, and she started getting at me, blaming me for us being late, because I "didn't tell her the time enough".  When I started to defend herself she started screaming at me that I was being passive-aggressive. She started saying "take me home. You make me sick." I did. We argued the whole way, screaming at each other. 5 minutes after, as I'm driving home, she texts me saying "I'm sorry. We can still make it" and make it we do. we then go for a few drinks in laverys where we make some new friends, we end up back at one of their houses who turns out to be this little gay dude- Gabrielle and the gay dude get me drunk and convince me to show them my penis. They all say nice things. Still felt a bit rapey. The three of us had a three-way kiss and at this point I started to feel that I wasn't in control of my life. I wanted to go. The gay dude somehow triggered the previous argument in Gabrielle again and my numerous attempts to defuse it were stopped by him, wanting to fight on my behalf. The little shit kept interrupting me when I tried to speak for myself or get everyone to shut up. He is getting her riled up again, massively. At me. Without me even speaking. We finally leave and the argument, of course, starts all over again. I didnt want it to, I tried to defuse it again, but she seems pretty set on it. So she screams at me for about an hour- personality-destroying, insecurity-instilling shit - and then asks me to fuck her. I don't wanna. I leave at 8 am. I get home to dundonald, and my dad is pissed at me because he wanted to look at my car before its MOT and I didn't give him enough time. He is within his rights to be pissed, of course. I am just overloaded, though. amidst his righteous disappointment, I crash into a well-deserved sleep.

There is another week of this with Gabrielle. She picks up on literally nothing and turns it into something and I am the one to blame and soon she is shouting at me and I've just given up arguing because it's so pointless, I never get to fucking speak and when I do I get shouted down with bullshit and she literally changes events that happened 5 minutes ago to make her seem in the right and she changes sides and pretends it's on purpose and it's just arguing for the sake of arguing, it's not about what is right or even being right, it's just exhausting. And at 3am on saturday morning in her bed when she's shouting at me over nothing again, telling me that I phrase everything in the form of a question which hands people power and that's why no other comics respect me and why people will walk all over me all my life (none of these things are true, but at the time they sting and they feel true, and scary), I give up, put on my trousers, and leave. I sleep through the abusive text messages that follow. Feeling of relief that it's over. Did I tell you that once during an argument with her roommate she stabbed him in the head with a fork? I'm genuinely scared of her sometimes. When we argue I look for sharp objects.

Comedy things. Did a competition in Dublin, didn't get through the first heat, should have. There was a material thief who did get through, dodgy. Stayed in the house of a comic friend, and it was really really nice. He's a nice fella too. Felt very welcomed. Got into the semifinal because somebody dropped out, similar really. one of the three to get through was worse than me again, don't get it, but never will.

Saw a comic called Paul Currie who I've heard lots of lovely things about, and they were all true. He was so fantastic it made me want to quit! Nevermind, these things happen.

Been writing a screenplay with a comic friend of mine called Neil Dickson. It's not bad and it's nice meeting with him. A place of calm. I need places of calm.

Since it's been over with Gabrielle I've been taking a different improv course with a friend of mine, Frazer Robb, who's a very good teacher, but Gabrielle has been there. And she's been sweet-talking me. Saying nice shit. I'm not going to fall for it, I'm not I'm not I'm not.

georgie and I finally broke up. It was very hard to get round to it because she stopped answering my texts, but it's done. Relief that it's over.

Hits me like a rock

So its been a little over two weeks since that thing at Gabrielle's. Things have been a bit everywhere. It was 6am when I left her house. When I got home she texted me saying he had come back again, but thanking me for what I had done. That makes 3 times he tried to get in. I fell into a peaceless, remorseful sleep. I should have done more. I should have stayed. I assumed the police had been called on him again.

The next day (or rather, the same day) (or rather.. 5 hours later) I met with Georgie with the intent of breaking up with her. I was, however, unable to do so, because she had had an argument with her choirmaster the night before and got kicked out of the choir, and singing was her life. She took it out on me for a bit, which I guess is fair enough, then burst into tears, leaving me comforting a sobbing girl for the second time in 12 hours. Perhaps I have this effect on people. I couldn't break up with her like that. We saw a movie and I cuddled her better and took her home. Mission failed. I went to Gabrielles. Dave let me in. She was in the bath. Opera music was playing from the stereo. I sat in the bathroom and chatted with her while she paddled around. She told me that when I had left and Rab had returned for a third time he had sobered up and managed to convince them to let him in and he had actually stayed the night and he wanted to apologise to me. I seethed a little. It seems I was the only one in that house that night who had had both testicles and brains. If it had been me the police would have taken him away a third fucking time the moment he started knocking on the door. I should have stayed. I should have done more. I should have hit him. Should've should've should've. The front door knocks. It's Rab. The closet beckons as a hiding spot. Fight or flight? I walk past the closet and sit in the living room. Rab walks in, all mumbled apologies about the night before. I say I'm there to take Gabrielle to a party but she's in the bathroom and it's getting late. He, Dave and I have a very awkward chat for about ten minutes. He shows me this little origami trick he knows where he can fold a pig out of cardboard. I keep the pig. I plan on blu-tacking it to my wall to remind me what happens when I don't act enough. I leave. Gabrielle told me later that she properly dumped him when she got out of the bath and saw him. The week following that was great. We spent nearly every day together. Couldn't get enough of the girl. He appears to be sort of back in the picture now though, worming his way back in through her pity when he found out I was with her. I don't know what's going on. I'm giving the whole thing some space. I have shit to do.

I've been simultaneously torturing myself for not acting enough and congratulating myself for acting as much as I did when others would have done less. Im thinking once more of taking a class in krav maga or jeet-kune do. Maybe both. Some sort of practical, modern martial art. I just need another job to fund it. money has been tight.

On friday I went to my friend Peters birthday and there were a lot of my old friends there. All in all, it went quite well. I don't feel hated by the majority of that group anymore. My car got stuck in heavy snow in the midst of a blackout and blizzard just at the finish line on the journey there and I had to run the rest of the journey. Some things made me think. I'm gonna try to lift out and separate each thing and see what can be learned.

Sam is a really old friend of mine and peters and he was at the party. He hangs around mostly with quite nerdy people and I guess that's fine. They aren't my cup of tea but I can have craic with them. When Sam broke up with his girlfriend he started hanging around with a girl from his group of friends called Rebekka, who at the time was in a long-term relationship (5 years) with some chap called Gareth. Later I learned that Rebekka and Gareth had decided to give polyamory a go and so she was also seeing Sam at this time. Eventually Sam grew tired of sharing and she chose him over Gareth. Cruel, yes. Unusual, yes. however- none of our business, also yes. I just didn't like that we were loudly judging and bitching about this only a room away, regardless of whether it's right or wrong (spoiler alert: wrong) and that we all kept subtly switching rooms when they came into the room. I guess I just don't like such a feeling of division. Why can't I like everybody?

But see, also conflict. Because my friend Clare was there, and she confided in me that she was in something of a delicate state right now because she just broke up with a boyfriend of hers. And when we were talking the topic of sam came up, because she went out with him when she was like 14. And she reminded me of this incident where she tried to break up with him but he threatened to kill himself so she had to get back together with him for another 6 months. How the fuck did I forget that? I secretly hated Sam for YEARS after that. I never got my respect back for him. How did I forget this? I've been torturing myself about this, also. Why do I feel like defending him from judgement when he's done such cold hearted things in the past and never apologised? So I don't know what to feel about that. Maybe the judging made me uncomfortable, yes, but why let him off the hook? He did steal that Gareth dude's girlfriend, after all 
And just literally after typing that I saw the hypocrisy, because I literally just did that 3 weeks ago!! with the whole Gabrielle thing!
I maybe wouldn't have been so keen on stealing her away from Rab if I hadn't known he hits her. It's a bit different to some relationship experiment that went awry. That's all the justification I can come up with. So I don't know what to think about that. In summary, I am made uncomfortable by us all judging them for that and for being a bit nerdy and aloof, but maybe that's because I've also been guilty of similar things? But see, then I ask myself "if I wasn't guilty of similar things, would I still be uncomfortable?" and the answer is yes. Because it's just unpleasant, isn't it? I feel that this is a conclusion.

I'm under no illusion I'm a good person, internet. I've tried very hard to be good but I've done bad things in my life, and something else that happened that night made me think about rectifying some. At about 1am my old friend Stephen Beattie and I went out in the snow to see if it would ever be conceivable that our cars would drive again. The topic of Becx came up, and how everyone still thinks I cheated on her. They all still think it was because Emily cheated on me, too. I wish it, and I, were as simple as that, really. Emily cheated on me, yes, but in an extremely minor way that I've definitely been over for a very long time. And never has the fact that she cheated on me made me feel like it's alright to cheat. Emily has nothing to do with it. Stephen asked me for the absolute truth on what happened between me and Megan, and I couldn't tell him. Why? Because it was the biggest mistake of my life and my mistakes are no one elses business except those involved. The truth is that in April of last year when I was still seeing Becx, in a very vulnerable state (Extremely vulnerable. pretty much mid-breakdown. I had spent the day before with my head on Becx's lap, screaming with rage and weeping because I felt that nobody in my family or life had any faith in me [I know they do now though. They're lovely]. She told me to "man up" and that I was making her uncomfortable. Also I had no one to go home to, because I lived with 2 of the worst people in the world), I kissed my best friend, Megan. I briefly did a little bit of something else (but not sex) before I realised it was wrong and stopped and we agreed that ours was a friendship that would best stay non-physical. The guilt drove me insane for months and I tried to make up for it in every way but telling Becx because she would end it immediately. She has a pretty zero-tolerance policy for these things. So yeah, I guess I did cheat. It's the biggest shame in my life because I really loved Becx, but it's not why I broke up with her. And now that I'm finally admitting this somewhere I'm starting to realise it's not as bad as I've always thought. And my friends shouldn't know because it never was their business, and those friends don't live the same life I lead or look at it the same way. They live in a world of moral black and whites where you're either bad or good and you occupy that space forever and one mistake condemns you as one or the other, but good and bad are potentials in all of us. Once a cheater isn't always a cheater. Good people can do bad things. Bad people can do good things. And other than that, I was a pretty perfect boyfriend, considering the very high standard of demands that were made of me and not appreciated on a regular basis from her.

Nevertheless perhaps I am overdue a chat with Becx. At the very least apologise for the way it ended (which was sudden- even for me. I wasn't expecting to do it that day). It'll fall on deaf ears, no doubt, if it falls on her ears at all. And even then it'll be rebutted with a pre-prepared speech that somehow paints her as this saintlike figure who never does wrong and ultimately she'll have learned nothing from the relationship because my one mistake will have invalidated any amount of mistreatment I received from her. God, all of that paragraph just flew out of my fingertips onto the keyboard. I am clearly repressing a lot of bitterness. But still, it'll do my brain good to apologise for something at least to her. Maybe I shouldn't say about the Megan incident, though. It really isn't why we broke up. I'd feel like I'm at peace with it if she's at peace with it.

He brought up Nathan and why he continues to be a dickweed or whatever. He brought up the story of the tray. The fucking tray. Ugh. I got some scratch marks on a baking tray once when baking cookies. I knew they'd freak out so I simply kept the scratched tray hidden in my room so I could get a new one and no one would know I'd fucked up. One of them had a snoop in my room while I was out and found it. I got the whole shebang- passive aggressive facebook posts, and a big screaming row when I came in. Sound worth it for a scratched tray? Not at all. Stephen tries to argue the point that they were just annoyed that I didn't come out and say it, but he didn't have to live with them. He doesn't know what it's like. He doesn't know what it's like that half the house pretended I didn't have a birthday because of a jokey post I made on facebook. Or he doesn't know about the time Lisa casually mentioned a private phone call I'd had that she had overheard through the floor in her room as if it was no big deal that she eavesdrops. He doesn't know about the time Nathan made a public facebook post about an unflushed toilet and tagged me and another housemate in it (he claimed it wasn't him because he "always flushes the toilet" not realising that whoever it was who was doing it also probably thinks they always flush it too. That's how a habit works, dumbass). He doesn't know about the constant little judgements they liked to make, on what you cooked, your eating habits, how you cooked, what shampoo or toothpaste you used, the tidiness of your room (when theirs was WORSE), all designed to make you feel like a useless little idiot. He doesn't know about the texts you'd get if a dish was in the sink for 45 minutes(!) or how when you did shit for everyone else (like do EVERYONE'S dishes, which I did to help me sleep at 3am a few nights a week), they never noticed or thanked you. He doesn't know about the stuff Lisa freely blabbed that I'd told her in confidence. He doesn't know about how her friends would come round and before I'd even MET them they'd hate me because she'd already bitched about me behind my back. He doesn't know about the time 2 weeks into living at the house when at 2am when I came in from work Nathan came downstairs and told me I "need to learn how to do dishes" because I'd left a thumbprint on ONE BOWL? HE DOESN'T KNOW THAT NATHAN REANEY IS A 22 YEAR OLD MAN WHO STILL THINKS THAT A RATIONAL WAY OF DEALING WITH AN ARGUMENT WHEN THE OTHER PERSON IS TRYING TO GET YOU TO TALK LIKE A HUMAN BEING IS TO STOMP OUT OF THE HOUSE LIKE A FIVE YEAR OLD AND GIVE THE OTHER PERSON THE SILENT TREATMENT FOR A WEEK AFTERWARDS. I've never seen him give a proper apology for one thing in his useless life. I didn't treat Nathan and Lisa with that much respect in the last few months in that house, I grant you. but that is because they weren't respectful people. They are bullies. So yes. Yes I did hide the pan which I was going to replace because I had left a scratch on it. Whose business is the truth of my mistakes? I littered today, do I have to tell people when I walk in? No, I just fix it because thats what a responsible adult does, while people like that don't feel comfortable without a figure to blame or judge. 

OH MY GOD I FEEL SO MUCH BETTER. How did I not like, break down in that house?
Actually no wait, I did. There were a lot of nights of just pure crying and depression. It was awful.

I've been stress eating a bit recently, letting my new exercise and diet routines slip, and I thought it was because of this Gabrielle business. But I think it was this. I think I KNEW this party would make me think of these things that annoy me SO MUCH. I've spent half of this post typing through hands shaking with anger, looking through eyes that are near-cloudy with tears. It makes me want to leave the country like I wanted to when this was at its height. Just fucking run. Why do I still meet with any of these people? They just make me relive and feel all of these awful emotions.

So everyone started to turn in at about 4am. I sat in a sleeping bag with a cat on my lap for about half an hour, petting it, telling it I loved it, until my allergies started acting up. I was erupting in hives and sneezing all over the place. I had to go, I had work the next day and I'd be a mess if I stayed. So I said my goodbyes and, like captain Scott, ventured out into the blizzard. I reached my car, which was about knee deep in snow, and with a spade about the size of a human hand and a handle just as long, dug my car out of the mass of snow. Y'know what kept me going? Imagining I had my friends to help me. Because if I did they'd be telling me to give up and that it couldn't be done. And I'd prove them wrong, just like I always did. It took 2 hours. 2 hours that have never felt more worth it when I felt my cars wheels turning and working with the road.
And we're ending on a high note. Good on you.

I could go to London, maybe that's where you are

I'm shaking. Near died tonight. I woke up at Gabrielles this morning. I sleep well with her. I like waking up next to her. Feels good. We had dinner together and I went to work. She visited during work and was all adorable most of the night. After work we were driving back to hers. Her boyfriend Rab is there when we arrive. He is drunk. Gabrielle convinces me to come in, even though it'll look pretty bad that I'm with her. I'm just the friend giving the lift is all! Dave is sitting with Rab. Dave is Gabrielle's housemate. He's a librarian who likes drugs and has a sort of timid, high pitched nature about him. Rab is drunk, but we seem to get along quite well. Rab and Gabrielle start fighting. It is loud, screaming-at-the-top-of-their-voices argument. They keep doing that thing where they ask someone elses opinion to get them involved in the argument but I'm not taking part. I really like Gabrielle and I have feelings for her but I'm not getting pulled into this. The fight escalates. She is shouting right up into his face, and he is smiling a big chavvy smile that stirs an unease in my heart. Dave and I are standing by awkwardly. I ask him "should I just call the police? He just isn't going to go." Dave talks me out of it for now. Rab stands up, pushes her heavily into a wall. She falls over a pile of boxes. Something in me snaps. I am sick of standing by and doing nothing and I'm not going to let this scumbag hurt a woman in front of me and do fuck all.
"Right. Time to go, Rab." I grab him, and start to pull him out of the room. The guy who is about a foot taller than me. Surprisingly, I get him out of the room somewhat. His fingers are closing round my throat, and yet when I speak, my voice is still calm. "Let me tell you something, Luke!" He's shouting.
"You can tell me outside." I say through my closing windpipe. Gabrielle charges for him, screaming. For a second I think she has a knife in her hand, but it's just her fist. It sends Rab and I toppling. Dave yells for me to call the police. Do I struggle with Rab further and protect Gabrielle or end it decisively with the police involvement but leave Gabrielle vulnerable? I opt for the latter, hoping Dave can keep her safe for a minute. I am on the phone to the police outside in the street when Rab comes charging out. "GIMME THE PHONE," He yells at me. "Y'SEE WHAT IT IS, IS YOU'RE FUCKING MY GIRL." Despite it all, my voice comes out stock steady. "I am not fucking your girl, rab. Let's calm down and talk." He jumps for me. My car keys are instinctively wrapped in my fist, with the sharp bits poking from between my knuckles. One punch and this scumbag can get what he deserves. I remember the last fight I was in, and opt for the non-punching option. We struggle for my phone. My glasses hit the ground, and Dave picks them up- which while not that helpful, is still something- Rab is grappling with me, he wants to see dirty texts I've sent her or something. Gabrielle opens the front door and shouts something at him, distracting him. He runs for the door. She slams it just as he impacts with it. The lock breaks and they tumble into the hall. I hold the phone back up to my ear. The 999 operator is telling me not to go in after them, to stay outside. I fight every instinct to run in. The police swing by, and they tell me to stay put too. Half an hour passes, and they take rab away. I go into the house to try and calm everything down. Everyones nerves are shot. Gabrielle is screaming at Dave for not putting his foot down earlier. She breaks down into heavy, convulsing sobs. I have my arms around her, while simultaneously reasurring the whimpering Dave over her shoulder. Her phone rings.. it is Rab, screaming down the phone at her because he has  3 months more probation. She screams down the phone and I take it off her and hang up. 15 minutes later and the doorbell is ringing again. Rab is shouting through the letterbox, and the door isn't looking safe with only the one lock. Gabrielle tries to convince me not to call the police. I have to stop her marching to the door to shout at him, she's all emotion and no logic. I hold her back while the police are rung. He's shouting that he just wants some of the clothes he left behind, so I tell him we'll give them to him out the window. I tell Gabrielle to give them to him from the upstairs window so he can't get in. He takes a running jump at the front door, which shakes it on its hinges. I run to the door to steady it for his next battery. Gabrielle goes to the ground floor living room window to hand him his things. I hear him run for the door, but feel no impact. Gabrielle makes a noise from the next room. Dave and Gabrielle run from the living room. Rab had jumped through the bloody open window! 
"WHERE'S LUKE? I WANT TO TALK TO LUKE." I leave through the front door. The police arrive. They take him away again. I give Dave and Gabrielle hugs and tell them how brave they've been and they say lovely stuff to me about how I took charge and I go home. And now I'm here.
STRESSSS

You don't slow me down

Two weeks of experience and understanding. First off, some minor stuff. My life has been influenced quite a lot by stand-up at the moment. I may have mentioned that my urge to get more healthy recently came after seeing a louis C.K routine where he mentions how he wants to be fitter so he can take better care of his kids and play with them. A routine where he describes snarky 20 year olds working in coffee shops as people who've just taken for 2 solid decades is making me think of some full-time work. Helping my family out a bit.

Last saturday my friend Wacky from the improv course held a party. Wacky was a regular customer in work who saw me do stand-up and became a big fan. When he said he wanted to try stand-up I suggested the improv course to get a taste for it. His name's actually Wakar and he's a 35 year old doctor but you wouldn't know to speak to him. The party was very fun and a bit odd and I tried ecstacy which was kind of overrated and stuff. Gabrielle was there. I didn't even notice (drugs) but she had a black eye the whole party. She arrived at about 4am and just as I was going to leave at 10am, I noticed her phone, vibrating down the back of a sofa. 55 missed calls, all from the one bloke. Clearly some mental bastard, all the more reason to stay away from the girl, I think. I leave feeling quite librating, knowing that this is another reason to stay away and be a good boy. After class the next day, however, we all go for pints and I end up alone with her, and we end up chatting. We seem to have a hell of a lot in common (despite her being 27), she's deliriously funny, and we get along better than anyone I've ever met. She's real smart, I don't have to dumb myself down for her at all. I tell her I have a girlfriend.
"cool," she says, and she kisses me. She seems to have missed the point of that statement. Despite myself, I kiss back, because she's the best kisser I've ever kissed and I'm kind of intoxicated by her, seduced by the atmosphere she projects. She explains the 55 missed calls guy as her boyfriend. He gave her a black eye. She says she gave him one back (attagirl). I give her a lift home. We're about to go inside to eat lasagne but her boyfriend opens the door. I play the part of the lift-giving friend. The trick with abusive relationships isn't to pull em out, but to lure em out a bit at a time.

On the drive back I consider my relationship with Georgie. It seems.. it seems like the same? Like I'm going out with the same girl I've always gone out with. Innocent, quietly vulnerable, thinks I'm an eedjit. And I'm thinking maybe it's time for a change. Maybe these people are bad for me and I'm bad for them and I should end this before I act more of a dick and hurt things more.

That night I dream that I'm on an errand to get something feminine like ballet shoes and someone else from the improv class recommends this guy to me, because he "knows a lot about northern ireland". I go to the guy and three or four fairly little but vicious dogs come out, going crazy. They are biting my shoes, tearing them apart, and suddenly I panic about protecting my balls (I am stood stock still). I cup them and the dogs start to tear at my hand.

On Friday she is waiting outside work at 2am. Sounds creepy but she stopped by earlier in my shift as a nice surprise and nobody's ever done that for me before (I keep catching myself saying stuff like this to her- "nobody's ever done that for me before" or "nobody's ever said that to me before". Is my memory selective or have I not had much care shown to me in relationships?). We walk back to my house, stopping only for her to piss behind some bins (she said she didn't want me to hear it and yet she shouted something hilarious to me while she was doing it). She reminds me of Otto Gross. Otto Gross was a dangerous combination, an anarchist and a psychoanalyst. A student of Sigmund Freud (and thus a believer that most if not all mental issues stem from repression, usually of a sexual nature), he believed that the job of the psychoanalyst was to give his patients freedom, and his definition of freedom is to repress absolutely nothing. Gross simply acted out whatever impulse he fancied, making mistresses of many of his patients. Freud sent him to Carl Jung to psychoanalyse and help him, but Gross had more of an effect on Jung, convincing him somewhat to join his hedonist ways and make a mistress of one of his patients. Gross's problem was more one of ideology than mental illness. The moral is that in a functional society maybe some repression is necessary. When I'm around people I can be quite impulsive, and as a result I've done some interesting and fun things in my life. But her, she seems to have little to no boundaries, and being around her sometimes I feel like how others must feel around me. I drive her home again, and she convinces me to have sex with her. Unprotected, On her period. She's very convincing. I didn't do a very good job. We talk until about 7am when I leave. She had an abortion six months ago. She's bipolar, prescribed antipsychotics, and doesn't take them (though I personally don't think she needs them, forealz). None of these things put me off. We get along that well. I spend the next few days thinking. Sure, some repression is necessary- We shouldn't just do whatever we want all the time, regardless of how unburdened that must leave a mind. Otto Gross was found dead in the street, cold and starving. But I am repressed. Very repressed. I noticed something about me- that I'm scared of sex.

I have no idea how I didn't notice this pattern. I was reluctant as hell to screw Gabrielle, and this is what made me think of this, maybe because it led to me being shit at it and the shame motivated me, but all my life I've pursued sex because society (and, I guess, my body) tells me to, but when I get it I'm like a dog chasing a car, I don't know what to do next, I get scared. Any relationship I've ever been in I've delayed sex for as long as possible. I went out with a girl for 3 years before we lost our virginities together, because I didn't really put any pressure on her, and foreplay was fine for me. I went out with becx for 7 months before I took hers, again with no pressure from me, and now I'm seeing another virgin. More of the same, more of the same, more of the same. I put myself in situations where I'm unlikely to get sex and then I try and delay it further. Why is this? Why deny myself pleasure? Doesn't this sound pretty repressed? It's almost like I hate sex, and that's actually kind of true!! My favourite part is just when they want to have sex with me! They don't even have to do it!
I don't really know the root of this. All I can think of is my first relationship with a girl when I was about 14-15. She was called Jess, and we went out for about 7 months when I was a kid. I think she wanted to do some sex stuff, but I was scared. I didn't know how to even touch myself, and I wasn't sure if I'd finished puberty. And yet all those wankers I went to school with were always asking "have you fucked her yet or wha?" people I wasn't even friends with. I just kept putting it off and kept it really unsexual until it ended. She probably cheated or something. It doesn't matter. Just kids. But maybe this sense of shame or something? I don't know.

Armed with this, I went to Gabrielles again on the night of my birthday. We talked all night, and had sex a bunch too. Was better this time. Best its ever been. We also did some other random shit. I smoked a joint and sat and watched her in the bath, and I scrubbed her back. Surreal. She understood all the shit I said. The Otto Gross comparison was perhaps a bit hasty. She's as human as anyone else. She has boundaries. She's not so scary. We've had 2 other nights like it since then. Having sex and talking and watching movies and talking about philosophy and existentialism and books and I don't think there's ever been anyone like this in my life before and I couldn't take Georgie's virginity now, I shouldn't even be seeing her, but when I do see her it feels like maybe I should stop seeing Gabrielle. I can't keep doing this. Maybe I should break up with both of them and spend time alone figuring out why I'm such a colossal wanker and what drives me to cheat on people who've done nothing wrong to me like this, because make no mistake, there's something deeply wrong with me. I should be able to say no to stuff like this.
gracias

its late again

I was in improv class again tonight, and frankly it didn't last long enough. I really enjoyed it. Gabrielle and co have a practice night every friday and she was looking mighty fine, gave me her number and all this time. I can resist her feminine charms! I can!! I don't care if she's hilarious and a bit mental and an older woman [been wanting an older woman for a while]. I CAN RESIST.

I've been running again and already I feel sleep coming easier, but tonight the ideas kept me up again and I'm going to keep one here in basic shorthand shitty form so that I can bloody relax.

First of all, this homeless helper thing. I figure once I get to know everyone and stuff eventually I could let slip that I do a bit of the oul' comedy, and if that generates any sort of interest I could teach some of the homeless a bit of stand-up. There's actually an article somewhere, its been done before and it was successful. I'm going to look up a bunch of shit on teaching stand-up and write a bunch of notes.

AHHHHH its gone. Nevermind. I have so much to do.

It's late

I had a whole bunch of thoughts keeping me awake and they were pretty much perfect for a wee journal but they're gone now, I've lost 'em. I'm sick and I've had a lot of good ideas the last few days.

I'm not so sure about this whole Georgie thing sometimes. She doesn't seem to have a thirst for life and exploration like I do. That's a big no-no. I'm not saying "be passionate and excited all the time" but, y'know, be passionate about SOMETHING.
I like her though. I have fun with her and being around her makes me happy. I'm going to stick around for now and see what comes from this. I'm nitpicking, really.

I saw an old friend for coffee earlier in the week and I saw peter a few days ago and both these chats have made me feel very calm about the things that have wound me up some for the last six months.

God, mind, is that all you got? When the lights were off you had so much to say. Hang on, I'm going to do my meditation and come back.
 
Done. I give up. I got nothin'. my thoughts kept moving to Ballyclare and Georgie. Good thoughts, I must stress.

I just had a look at my calendar from this time last year. If I ever miss becx this is the antidote. Back then she had the password to my calendar [because she cried when she found that I had a place where I kept personal thoughts secret- I wish any part of that sentence was an exaggeration or lie] and she has added in so much stuff. And so much of it is "LOVE ME plEASE LOVE ME" [actual quote] "I NEED LOVE" "please show becx you love her today" "CALLLLLLLLL MEEEEEE"- and It's amazing how blind to it I must have been not to see how immensely taxing it was. Even just reading it now I feel frustrated, because I think of the times I brought my problems to her and she was ridiculously callous or dismissive about them or made them about her or if she was actually helpful it was only so she could use how helpful she had been as ammunition. Ridiculous.
But these aren't the thoughts that keep me up, internet! These are just little nuisance thoughts at best! Aagh.

edit: I am back. I have some more nuisance thoughts; not the ones that kept me up, but best to get as much out as possible. My first homeless befriender shift happened the other day and it was pretty simple. We were just doing inventory of all the rooms for insurance purposes of some sort. To be honest most of them have more spacious rooms and better possessions than I do. stereo systems, flat screen tvs, fancy computer rigs.. I don't know how they afford it. And they're all blasting out proper rave music at like 11am and shit. shit is crazy. I recognised a guy, too. Not too close, but a friend of a friend, enough that we knew each other by name. I felt a bit of a dick, being in his room- I'd have been a bit self-conscious, not mad keen on people knowing I was in a hostel, but he seemed comfortable enough, which is a good attitude to have.

Don't be alarmed, no one gets harmed

It's wednesday. Last saturday me and Georgie agreed to make it kinda official, like be boyfriend and girlfriend. In the interim, I have already fucked up.

Don't get me wrong, the last few days have been great. But I've had to reconsider a lot of things. 

I had a great two days doing student gigs. Students are my crowd and frankly I feel amazing after doing them, it goes so well. On the first night someone asked me to sign their chest afterwards! I drew a flower. On the second night I had my comedy improv course first, and Gabrielle was there. Gabrielle is blonde and she wears high heeled boots and woolen jumpers, and if she stretches sometimes the jumper lifts enough to see a tight, firm stomach. She gives the impression to me that she is a little bit mental. One time during an exercise we were meant to convey desire without words, and she took off the bauble holding her hair back and shook her head, unleashing a surprisingly ridiculously long cascade of hair. To me, it was crazy hot. And I do like mental. Anyway the gig goes really well- the promoter says some really lovely things and a big comic who I respect told me there might be a prospect of being paid support when he goes on tour. The comedy improv course people are all there too, as I invited them after class. the comedians, the course people and I all decide to go out afterwards. I am already really drunk off the free drinks at this point. Gabrielle and I get to chatting, where I find out that she IS mental, and also one of the funniest women I've ever met. I can't even remember why. I only remember some stuff, like she said she goes for months at a time without a phone and if people ask her how to get in touch with her she tells them "smoke signals" or "just find me!" [it's the way she told 'em, maybe]. I thought she was flirting with my mate ruaidhri so she was gonna get with him, but suddenly she kissed me. And then two other people start talking to me. They said they saw me perform earlier and asked me to sign stuff for them. They sort of get between me and gabrielle, but I want out anyway before anything more can happen. I try and edge out but they're coming with me. One of them is trying to hold my hand and saying that I'm going to come or something. I get into my taxi and they get in with me. They say they're going to take me home, and I don't realise they mean their home.
Typing this out this is starting to sound like an actual kidnap

I don't remember much else. I remember chatting to the one who told me she was going to make me come and doing a sexy dance on their living room table like a male stripper. I got into bed with her. I didn't want to have sex but I remember feeling I'd given her the impression that I did so it'd be shit of me to leave, so I pretend to fall asleep nearly immediately. She doesn't buy it. She tells me she won't have sex with me because she likes me and she'd like to see me again and asks me to tell her stories, so I do, if only to make sure that we don't have sex. She wants to spoon but I tell her I can't sleep in other peoples beds and make my excuses and leave and run out into the rain, but not before she kisses me too. I feel awful. I've cheated. I need to reconsider my position as a good person. It was a whirlwind that I wasn't really in control of but it still happened and it's a big deal for me. I thought I'd become a better person in these last few months. Even worse, that poor girl is expecting me to get in contact because she thinks I like her. uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh telling you didn't help this time, internet 

morning comes in light

I've been doing a lot of meditating this week and have come to an interesting conclusion about my life.
Things have been quiet recently. I've been a little afraid about money so I've been staying in. As normal when I stay in I start to fear about wasted youth. Life running past me at a high pace while I sit in watching 30 Rock and then suddenly I'll be old and the only interesting stories I'll have to tell will be about things that happened around me while I sat in watching sitcoms. And I thought "opposed to what?" and see that's interesting because the alternative is going out and getting blocked or whatever, and how is that using my youth? There's a higher chance of something interesting happening I guess, but just like the sitcoms, anyone can do that. What would not be a waste of my youthful energy? Travelling? I'm sort of doing that, I guess. Learning things? I've got textbooks and textbooks of martial arts stuff and psychology books and every day I know more than the last. I just needed to "find my own fun" I guess, because the pressure I feel to go out isn't a natural thing, it's what society expects me to do with my youth, and I am not necessarily fulfilled or made happy by it. See? All this naval-gazing accomplished something.

Today was Georgie's grandad's funeral, so I didn't think I was going to see her, but during tech tonight she texted me asking if I wanted to visit. I couldn't see it ending well, being on the day of the funeral and me dressed in my tech clothes [which are most definitely comfort-based rather than mourn-based], but what the hell, internet- I missed her. I said yes. She texted me saying "really? don't worry about the clothes, the question is are you brave enough to meet my family? :p" I text her back:
"I am fearless."
I've done it now. I've set myself on this collision course and I can no longer steer myself away. I steel myself up on the drive down, shouting to myself "FEARLESS LUKE MCGIBBON!" All along the motorway. I've never been good with the family of any of my exes. Conversation is stilted and I am scared, so the politeness filter goes into overtime and I suck at talking. I'm the same with managers in work- I just suck at chatting to them because I know they can fire me. In a way meeting them so early is good, see, because its only been 2 dates [though we know there's something more here] it means there's less to lose. I consider approaching this not as a man dating their relative [because it isn't just parents here, it's her entire extended family], but as a stand-up going towards an audience he is apprehensive towards. Turns out this approach works.
I am in a room full of her relatives, politely and jokingly enquiring about the sort of person I am, and keeping it lighthearted allows me to slowly and humbly bring out the things that make me seem like a catch [comedian, volunteer work, career plan as counsellor, used to have 2 jobs, etc] and get along well with them. I really enjoyed it. They kept saying they were really impressed. I'm a bit impressed myself. They're all lovely and give me lots of food on the way out, despite my protests. And Georgie looked ridiculously hot in her black dress. I saved that bit for last because mourning isn't meant to be sexy. She was though.

Onstage psychodynamics

Tonight was my first gig of 2013. I'd been on a break. I was going to try some new stuff but I lost faith in the majority of it the night before and decided to stick to the old stuff for the first bit and then move on to the new stuff. It's irrelevent, really. Anyway it went grand! I learned something about myself, which doesn't happen for me often onstage. The new material wasn't really complete so I stuck to the script less. basic psychodynamic principles state that expression through art or journals is a good way to reveal elements of the unconscious. It just comes out. And sans script I noticed something come out.
"Endings!" I said. "I'm talking a lot about endings. I'm bad at endings. Let's pretend that's a cogent theme I chose for tonights set because I'm so SMART" 
I am quite bad at endings! Not just of jokes, either. I don't quite know what to do with this information yet. when I'm less tired I might make an entry that's just a list of endings I handled badly.

Words of glass will only cut my skin

Ok so I went out on wednesday night and got drunk and some girl called me a loyalist then I got stoned with my mate and accused his girlfriend of being an illusion. That is a thing that happened.  On Friday night I went out with my friend Jonny and another old friend who I haven't seen in years who he fancies and some of her friends and ended up making an impassioned case for the fact that women don't fancy assholes, they fancy confidence and outspoken-ness and people who are doing something with their lives and going for what they want and people who are INTERESTING and assholes just happen to possess a number of these traits or are good at faking them. I was alone in this opinion.
Fine then, I guess? Why don't you try it. Why don't you try being a straight-up asshole to women and see how much success that brings you. Oh what's that, you "can't"? you "can't" be an asshole to women? I'm glad you're so nice. I can give you the first step on how to be an asshole to women. Why don't you try telling them that they are idiots who purposely go for things that damage them? That's pretty asshole-ish, right? WATCH THEM FLOCK TO YOU

Other than that, fairly uneventful. The whole week just felt like it was killing time until saturday when I was meant to have my second date with Georgie, and this is how that went.

First of all, her bus was late because there were some more of those bloody union jack flag protests in the middle of town. I was going to take her to the disney store and stuff because she seems like the sort of person who would love that shit but I internally scratched that off the list of plans. When I see her the first thing she says is "I feel terrible. My grandad just died. They had to kick the door down to get to him."
AND THE SECOND DATE IS OFF TO AN AMAZING START. I internally scratch everything else off the list of plans.  I am now plan-less.
"I should have known. He always calls." She said. I panicked. Of course I did. I think that's the natural first reaction to these sorts of things. What do you say to that on a second date? She doesn't want a lift home, and I hate to say it but the first thing that I feel is a sense of entrapment. Any plans I had for a date are wiped out in the face of this massive event and for a minute I don't really know what to do. I can hardly wap out the counselling skills, people see that coming a mile off and it's shitty date material. I can't even imagine what it feels like. I was on a date with Emily when I heard my grandad died and she was totally cool with me heading straight home to my family, I kind of figured it would be the same here. I decide a plan. I have to take her mind off of this. I hail a taxi and by some majestic twist of fate, it works. There is stilted conversation between us because I am still somewhat thrown at this point, and between us and the taxi driver, too, though for some awful coincidence he keeps accidentally shifting the conversation towards dead relatives and I struggle valiantly to change to something else. Finally we arrive at my house and we befriend a cat, who we bring inside. Georgie, Cecilia and I just crowd around it, petting it and spoiling it and being all "oh, can we keep it?" Things perk up from there and we bake brownies and  cuddled up with a DVD and it all actually went quite well, in the end. She is a virgin, mind. I like her, though, so it really doesn't matter. But I'm starting to think there must be something about me that is extra attractive to virgins or something? I mean, I've slept almost exclusively with virgins [not on purpose]. It's both positive and negative to my sexual self-esteem; To them, I seem to be some sort of sexual expert. On my end, though, I feel like if I ever got with some super sexually experienced woman I wouldn't know what to do. It's like this keeps me in a  permanent state of sexual inexperience. I LIKE THIS ONE THOUGH. I like her a lot. She is going to stick around for a while.

1-20 of 45 Blogs   

Previous Posts
..it's dancing, posted September 25th, 2013
It's you, it's me, posted September 15th, 2013
9joion, posted July 26th, 2013
For your delight, oh my., posted July 14th, 2013
Chef prepares a special menu, posted July 14th, 2013
We're graced in these matters, posted June 5th, 2013
plotz, posted May 21st, 2013
Cut, part 2, posted May 18th, 2013
cut, posted May 16th, 2013
as a child I was born in a lions mouth, posted May 3rd, 2013
Life is a game which we all play, posted April 30th, 2013
Hits me like a rock, posted March 24th, 2013
I could go to London, maybe that's where you are, posted March 9th, 2013
You don't slow me down, posted March 6th, 2013
its late again, posted February 19th, 2013
It's late, posted February 18th, 2013
Don't be alarmed, no one gets harmed, posted February 14th, 2013
morning comes in light, posted February 6th, 2013
Onstage psychodynamics, posted February 4th, 2013
Words of glass will only cut my skin, posted February 3rd, 2013
The rest of my last week on Earth, posted January 27th, 2013
First night out on my last week alive, posted January 22nd, 2013
Last stop, this town, posted January 21st, 2013
1000 words, posted January 19th, 2013
Do you feel like a chain store, posted January 16th, 2013
All at sea, posted January 9th, 2013
Hey man, now you're really livin'., posted January 3rd, 2013
O you, posted January 1st, 2013
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to, posted December 27th, 2012
zsu zsus petals, posted December 25th, 2012
pea green boat, posted December 18th, 2012
we took your daddy's car, posted December 1st, 2012
Home is wherever I'm with you, posted November 16th, 2012
please don't be a stranger in my place, posted November 15th, 2012
Love the kisses that I'll be sending you, posted November 8th, 2012
Why yes sir, I can boogie, posted October 22nd, 2012
Just because you're moving forward doesn't mean I'm moving backward, posted October 19th, 2012
If you are poorly, I will send poetry, posted October 16th, 2012
Cheering me up and I'm thanking you, posted October 12th, 2012
Hard to see patterns with your nose to the page, posted October 9th, 2012
There are wolves in my mind, posted October 8th, 2012
pancakes, posted October 4th, 2012
Livid, posted September 25th, 2012
Cleaning, posted September 20th, 2012
I don't know, posted September 10th, 2012
So my Girlfriend may have stolen my job, posted August 6th, 2009
Life's good, posted August 6th, 2009

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