I Ask You Questions, Tell You Lies, Criticise, Sympathise

It’s exactly three years since I started this blog.

At 985 posts, there is more than one post for every day of the three years. That probably isn’t a good sign. There have been less posts in the last year because of full time work and other writing commitments. I have been in full time work for an unbroken year and that is good.

I am in a room in Fallowfield and the sun has just gone down. I’m playing Gwyneth Herbert; it could just as easily be Blue States or St Germain or Aim.

I don’t feel I’ve changed a great deal since starting the blog: as Irvine Welsh says, people don’t change that much, they either become more themselves or less themselves. The writing on the blog still reflects my obsessions – aggressive secularism, over the top attacks on other obscure intellectuals, plugs for my other writing, therapy-speak confession, the panda’s progress.

I have however become more and more impressed with the amount of interesting memory I’ve accumulated and fascinating people I’ve encountered.

I have had two nervous breakdowns before the age of thirty and still, sometimes, feel anxiety creeping in around the edges. I feel more acutely than ever the truth of Hunter Thompson’s words: ‘It was the tension between these two poles – a restless idealism on one hand and a sense of impending doom on the other – that kept me going.’

I have learnt though (and here is another lapse into therapy-speak) that it’s not the shit that happens so much as your response to it. I have more and better tools to deal with the shit.

I feel generally happy, grateful to exist, full of energy, full of piss and vinegar.

I am going to plan inter city trips.

I have learned something about the impermanence of all things and the acceptance and celebration of this impermanence.


2 Responses to “I Ask You Questions, Tell You Lies, Criticise, Sympathise”

  1. Pedanto the Great Says:

    Fewer, not less
    Number(s), not amount
    Apart from those lapses, good post, great blog!

  2. Rachel Fox Says:

    And another.

    I said to my Mum at some point in my late 20s ‘I think I’m having a nervous breakdown’. She said something like ‘well, dear, if you want to be a writer that’s really no surprise’. How we laughed. Some of the time…


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