lukemitchwest's Blog

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.

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

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.

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.

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'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

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

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.

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.

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 

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.

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.

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.

I'm still alive! Well, of course I am! But the experiment was mostly a success. After the 2nd night out in a row [which involved the laxatives I took to cure my hangover in the morning hitting me all at once at around midnight and having to fucking dash into the toilets in the limelight where my arsehole proceeding to yawn] I wasn't really able to commit to it in the same way. But it was useful. people always say to live each day like it's your last and that is infinitely easier said than done. It is very hard to give every day your all. It is a lot easier if you can actually make yourself feel like it's your last day. I was able to constantly remind myself "I'll be dead soon! I better do that." So I guess that's what I learned. I was also able to really prioritise what I'd do on my last week. Like if you cut all the non essential bucket list stuff, it just boils down to-
1. End things on a good note with EVERYONE. Leave a note or something for those who won't take it.
2. Make peace with God.
Those are like the 2 things I bloody didn't do! I should do them this week.  So all in all, while it was a failure in a number of ways- I didn't do half the stuff I said I was going to do and I didn't fully commit to it- It was mostly a success. I did love harder, and I have that phrase I can use to motivate me to do things now- "I'm going to be dead soon!" 

Hey! The date, right? I forgot to mention. One of the best first dates I've ever had. I got along really well with her. I felt really really relaxed around her, it didn't feel like I was carrying the conversation; more that the conversation was a ball being passed between us. We saw Les Mis [which I liked far too much] and in the cinema we kissed. She has this thing where after we kiss she does this adorable wee smile. I felt like a 15 year old on his first cinema date. We held hands, and she did the oddest thing. She held up my hand to her face and kissed my knuckles. It's the smallest thing but it was so delicate and sweet in the most understated way. I know I sound far too into someone who I just dated once but I can tell it's mutual, it so is! Trust me on this! aaaaah I just can't wait to see her again.

I come in out of the blizzard, and start bleeding out of my ears and nose. That's something of a bad omen, I suppose. I start drinking with a bunch of guys- it's good to have male friends. I actually kinda like it. 
my friend ben doesn't get in because of lack of ID- he's 25! and, like, massive! Insane, right? Ben's a good mate, so I go back outside and we drink elsewhere until he can try to get in again, and surprisingly it's successful. The night itself is unremarkable, until the end. Ben and I are throwing snowballs at some people, and it's good banter I suppose. 2 strangers start to pick me up, however, and I'm having none of this. There's something about snow that brings out some sort of bully or rage in people, I think, so I kick and struggle til they drop me. I jump on one's face and start riding him like a cowboy, just going "woop woop woop!" I'm just having the craic, trying to defuse his shitness. he drops me again. When I get up, he's trying to start a fight, pushing me and stuff. I'm starting to feel a sense of familiarity here. One thing that will always stick with me is something that happened in 2nd year when I was 12, when someone who had led a 2 year campaign of being a shithead to me was being a dickhead and focusing on only me in a snowball fight. Like literally he had eyes for nobody else, he was trying to antagonise me, and I guess it worked, because we started fighting, for about 40 minutes almost. My best friend of the time, Johnny power, was there, and he just watched. Barely even a word of sympathy. I guess that this was manhood for me. You're all alone, and people who you'd take a bullet for won't be there when you need them. And frankly, people have rarely proven this wrong [exhibit A: my old friends when I broke up with Becx. Where were they?]. Anytime I do something nice for people I always wave it off with "ah, you'd do the same for me", but frankly I don't believe it when I say it. Anyway, whine over, that's just something that's stuck with me.

Suddenly the guy is no longer squaring up to me, trying to start a fight. This is because Ben is trying to start a fight with him. Ben throws a punch at the guy, and immediately slips and falls on the ice. The other guy does the exact same shit! It's the clumsiest fight in the world, like Benny Hill and shit. Then I do the exact same shit too! My glasses are long gone by now, lost somewhere in the snow. The fight sort of goes all over the place, skidding and falling about, and the other guys mate gets involved too, and eventually the two are separated.
The other guys mate is holding back Ben, and I'm holding back the guy who wanted to fight me in the first place, who is easily like a good few inches taller than me. I'm holding onto his shoulders, and I'm shouting at him "slow down haircut, slow down!" [He had a dumb haircut] He's punching me in the face and I'm just taking it, shouting "I'm not going to hit you, I'm like buddha! You're accomplishing nothing!" And eventually, somehow, it works, to the extent that he's not hitting me anymore. His friend hands me my glasses and we leave. Through my daze I say to Ben as we walk away "can I tell people on the internet I've been in a fight now?" such a lame thing to say.
I should maybe let Ben know how much it meant to me that he had my back. I feel like I've come to terms with that whole incident in the past through this. 

On the way home some other stuff happened, like I shouted out the open door of a moving black taxi at some people and got a discount for it. This isn't such a bad week to die.
On friday my homeless befriender induction training begins. I don't think I'm going to tell anyone I'm working with the homeless. It makes it purer.

A few nights ago I had a dream prophesising that I would die this coming saturday and I thought maybe it would be an interesting thought experiment to live as if it was true. I mean, not entirely, I can't fully commit to it- I can't quit my job because of a dream, for example- but to look at things as if it was true. I went for a walk in Dundonald yesterday in the snow and when I got back I imagined what it would feel like if I knew that was the last time I'd see it all, and I actually wept a bit. I'm finally going to climb a mountain or go to the giants causeway in a few days because I might be dead soon and they're on my bucket list. I'm going to go to a church and confess everything bad I've done and try and make my peace with God. I'm going to go out with friends every day I can, and try and gather the balls to apologise to the people who don't like me anymore, even though I feel like I'm not in the wrong. I don't think I can do it, actually. It would have to involve me feeling like I am in the wrong. OK maybe I'll revise that goal to trying real hard to understand why I'm meant to be in the wrong in their eyes. 
I gathered all my diaries together in one file in google docs. I've kept a number of diaries over the years in a number of different forms, since about 2008. 40 pages long. Have I seen anything to be ashamed of? God, plenty. I'm ridiculously pretentious, somewhat melodramatic, and very very angry. And I might have a victim complex. It's nice knowing I've evolved even a little bit in this time though. For example, all the entries from when Emily and I broke up are so mad, like "I did everything for her" and "I was perfect to her" and shit like that, but in hindsight, I think I was a bit of a shitty boyfriend. I've been pretty awful to some people, and it's important I acknowledge that. It seems so unthinkable when I read those entries that we'd end up having such a nice wee chat just the other month. 

It kinda sucks that if I do die people are going to be seeing such a shitty side of me. I guess I just used it as an expression of negative thought too much, and I might end up being remembered by my friends for it. And that sucks. 
One pattern I have noticed seems to be the last few months, on this blog in particular, as I embrace, explore and attempt to enjoy single life properly, I seem somewhat more lucid. I'm tackling issues I have always had, so there's still plenty of anger, but it seems to be more happy in a genuine sense- the blog of someone trying to live and be decent rather than.. I don't know. What I was? pretentious? Lying? double-dealing, cheating, and ultimately self-loathing? There's a lot of words and not that many of them are pleasant.

There is one wee bit that stuck out at me though. I wrote it around the time my Grandad was dying.
“Sometimes I think the death or prospect of death of a relative is kind of like that feeling you get when you walk out of an exam room- you think you did well but you knew you could have tried harder, studied harder.
Always feels like I could have loved harder.”
I'm going to try and love harder this week. 

When I was drunk the other day I reconciled with Georgie. Remember her? That customer whose number I got? Well she's finally able to actually go on a date on saturday so I'm going off to ballyclare to see Les Mis with her. Saturday is supposed to be the day I "die", remember. I'd like to die having had a wee kiss, maybe.

So I went with Alicia to the cat sanctuary on wednesday. It was really nice. She started talking about an ex that she had who was really spontaneous, and he sounded like me so I felt like I had to prove that I was spontaneous. I drove to the beach and jumped into the ocean in my pants. It was a good time. She's been less flirty since, and I now know why.

Anyway, last night was her last shift. I couldn't even look at her when we were saying goodbye, we were both near crying.

This morning she said she couldn't bear to go, so she delayed her flight to the eighth of february so she can give it another shot with her boyfriend. She said things had been better the last few days, which explains it all.

So a photo of me and a girl has gone up on facebook and things have slowed down a bit between joy and me. It would be alright  if I'd actually done anything with the girl, I actually found her pretty annoying. So I guess that makes me a bit more single again.

Alicia and I have been chatting like every day for hours in the wee hours of the morning. more than once I've had to get to bed at like eight or nine am. She calls me her favourite and all these lovely things, and I still doubt it sometimes, because she seems far too hot for me. But then again, I said the same thing about Becx and Joy [mostly because it was true]. Her and her boyfriend have been arguing a lot, like a LOT, and she says she's going to break up with him. This means she's going to move back home to Australia, though. I asked her to go out with me before she goes back and she said yes. She says she misses her cat so I'm going to take her to an animal sanctuary today. I'm far too excited.   
I felt like I had more to say but I guess I don't?

I've been learning a lot this week about being a man and being alive.
Something is lifting from me, and as it lifts I'm starting to realise I've been in a really bad place for a very long time. unspeakably bad. I can't really describe what I feel like.
In work on saturday I proposed to some friends that we go out for pints on sunday. What a manly thing! So me and 3 other guys went to some bar and played snooker, and I started thinking some things. I mean I don't really have that many male friends, and when I did it wasn't like this. When I had male friends we were all just after the female friends in our group of friends. There were never manly pursuits like this. I've never known how to play pool. Other things that came up include: Never having been on a "lads" holiday or whatever. The only male role model I've had is my dad, and I think he totally had a much manlier life than mine. Maybe this is the way to go. We went to some bar afterwards in pursuit of women and all enjoyed only mild success, but still. I think this was the start of things lifting. I started realising that I'd barely been out in the last few months and when I was I had not fully given myself to the night. Like when I went out with my mate rory and his mates I didn't get proper drunk, I just got all anxious the moment I entered the club and ended up not enjoying myself. That's one of the things thats lifting. I drank a lot last night. I had a good time. Things are starting to make sense.