March the 19th, 2003

The relentless torment continued throughout the evening, writing
word after word after word to occupy my mind otherwise, didn't seem to
alter matters much, the bleak becoming bleaker, the dark darker and the
loneliness more lonely. O! what a miserable specimen of humanity
trudging the well worn pessimistic path of the befores:

'There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away,
When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull decay.' -
Byron

What happened to the road less travelled by?

(Trying to dislodge Love from my mind I started to read 'The Conquest
of Happiness' by Betrand Russell, and as I'm feeling a bit low at the
moment I'll probably be regurgitating a big cheese's words in one
fashion or another for a while. It's just the bits that I strongly
related to and feel the need to write it down. Clear the influence away
and a little self confidence tonic to get me going. It seemed to make a
lot of sense, which had somehow or another had become dormant in the
reckoning process against the battle with love's sharpened
senses.)

Attributing sorrows to my views rather than allowing an unaware
attributing factor and essentially dwelling upon an upsetting tangible
event. Forgetting that a certain amount of struggle is essential and
part of adapting to life. I was entertaining expectations of
gratification without any effort, the absence of which removes an
essential ingredient. Anything obtained too easily doesn't bring about
any satisfaction.
Only vanity's desire to boast to friends and always embellished beyond
reason.

Back to last evening, I toiled away, for that is what it was, until
overcome with tiredness, saved it on to a floppy and went to bed. A
tossy-turny start and wet dreamy interruptions ensured a stroppy
natured awakening. Made coffee and decided to continue. And would you
believe it, I couldn't open the document, some sort of error which
refused to yield to all my attempts to surrender it, including thumping
the desk like a crazed delirious monster. I was so mad that I'd lost it
all, I think my vanity was being called into play, after all the main
annoyance was that nobody else would be able to read it. It took ages
to get over it, pacing round the apartment looking for something to
bear the brunt of this rebellious uprising within. No loved one around,
so eventually opt for completely destroying the floppy, which by the
way deleted some other stuff of which I hadn't a copy. I must learn to
control these actions in the moments of emotional disturbance. I'd
better start practicing this anger management; funny how it only ever
springs into mind in the aftermath, must be one of those wise after the
event types.

Well, it's gone now and forever and I couldn't even start to begin to
remember what poured out, it just flowed and it was probably better
that way, wasn't meant to be for others. The intentions to write must
be centred on my desire to do so, not for outside applause, which would
be that of an untalented person so puffed up with vanity that would
continue to produce twaddle and more twaddle. This is ludicrous; the
compulsion should be to express ideas and feeling not actuated by a
desire for a pat on the back, which inevitably leads to choosing an
audience with a high probability that such will be forthcoming.

My doings are never so terribly important as I imagine, success or
failure shouldn't come into it, it shouldn't matter. Nothing I will
ever do will change me, others, the world or the universe to any
noticeable degree, I'd best get my head round this one and enjoy what
is. Not having the fullest realisation of what is will inevitably lead
to unhappiness.

I must remember that the world is full of recognised educated derelicts
and I shouldn't allow any thoughts that I belong to the class of
unrecognised merit. There are cases in history, but they are so few are
far between that it's unlikely and best not to dwell on such. This is
not modesty, in fact, modesty is such a drain for it requires
reassurance beyond which is humanly possible, as the loss to the giver
is far greater than what can be received. Modesty just makes one an
under achiever, not even attempting most tasks of which it is capable
of.

In a mood that's looking for injustices and if I don't find one,
imagine it. What foolishness, a pointless exercise to cause discontent,
not able to see things as they are but only in relation to how they
affect me, which greys all. An irrationality leading to trivialities
and making life seem quite dull, divided against myself, looking for
excitement to be outside myself to prevent the painful necessity of
dealing with my own consciousness, heading down the path that the only
relief will be in intoxication simply because of an inability to
conceive the fundamental happiness.

This must end, self examination is just self absorption which is a
blockage to harmony with a moodiness that somehow or another attempts
to contradict or oppose life, clouding judgement.

With this in mind, it is necessary to just do what I decided to do when
I was unaffected by emotional anxiety. Perhaps it's just a resurfacing
of highly charged feelings that I buried as a means to continue at the
time and it's doing nothing but fatiguing me whilst at the same time
interfering with my rest, basically a nuisance.

This is all sounding a bit too theoretical and should take some action,
remembering that an ounce of practice is worth a ton of theory. Isn't
it strange that I know deep down what to do but find it almost
impossible to actually do it.

Giving sermons to all in sundry, those who will lend me an ear and
politely listen, yet sensing emptiness, bobbing up and down in a mass
of confusion, in which rashness rules the roost, looking for the
comfortable moments now and not having the patience or determination to
work through the rough, wishing for calm waters all the way. Well, if I
take my own words onboard, this changing is a time of stress, going
from known to unknown and I mustn't allow myself to choose the safe
harbour option simply because I'm frightened, otherwise I will go
against all that life is and settle for something within the boundaries
of my fear. This I cannot allow, not now, not after all I've been
through, selling myself short and that is nothing to be proud of.

Am I continuously looking for newness to stimulate enthusiasm and
creativity, if so then it also means I have less control, impulsive and
quick to be aggressive towards opposition and in no way be loyal or
trusting, making others afraid of me. This could well be the case as it
seems to fit the facts of history, confirmed by how much I detest and
feel the imposed control of others. Not that I'm vehemently opposed,
its just the way it is, difficulty accepting it and at the same time
recognise that I, myself would not be able to survive for long with
such a likeness, only have the reserves to handle myself like this.
Silly thing to say, we all come into this world with the means to
survive only those who succumb to their weaknesses become dependant on
others.

If there was no masking and saying what is in the first place instead
of harbouring until it becomes too late in the day. Love often
masquerades as a need to assuage the discomforts of self, which makes
it conditional and inevitably leads to blaming others for one's own
misfortunes, a futile misery. I believe that when the whole picture is
seen it will balance with enough positive to negate the negative, just
seeing the unconstructive harmful effects of others is nothing more
than low self esteem, no confidence to go forward without a
sympathiser.

Had enough for the time being of this anguish about what is, what
isn't.

(I think that's the bulk of the influence out of the way.)

Is this self justification to boost my confidence? Because I'm feeling
terribly vulnerable at the moment.

Must get on with the necessaries, food shopping is a must; I'm really
irritable when I'm hungry.

My friend rang last night to confirm the travel arrangements, he will
be arriving with his wife around the middle of next week, this means of
course there will not be room in the car for me as well as the stuff
I'll be transporting back to England. Thinking I may fly direct to see
my sister and the rest of the clan, something I feel I should do before
departing from these shores.

Sent my sister the first bits of the story I was writing and her first
reaction was, 'I'll bloody kill him, he doesn't have to so honest'. It
made me laugh; I'll have to change the names to protect the difference
between my understandings and their reality. Anyway come to the
conclusion that if I continue to write where the centre of attention is
on me as the hero is nothing more than narcissism. Have had a funny,
(funny to me that is), story going round in my head about a first visit
to a psychologist of a husband and father's realisation of what life
has become. It feels real enough, but not sure about the content which
may well be unfairly derogatory to the female and could well upset.
Will try to balance it, otherwise I will not be fair and it's so
important to me to try to be so.

Supermarket was not enjoyable in the least, don't want to be where
there are a lot of people at the moment, feeling quite uncomfortable,
not paranoid or anything, just not wishing to be there, somewhere else,
who knows where.

Got it done, forgetting a few things, didn't make a list. Getting back
home as quickly as possible, o! and nearly had an accident, just what I
needed, not paying attention, stick to walking for a while.

I don't know why I dash back, it seems like an intangible prison with
its impenetrable emptiness and desert of silence, just the right
environment for the mind throbbing torments rippling unpleasant
sensations, consuming the time too slow for my likings. Perseverance
with the separation is turning me to habits where at least some effort
is involved, putting off dealing with the incomprehensions, disguised
as witticism in the face of others.

Don't seem to get much comfort from the knowledge that I've been here
before, always seems this time is the worst. Wasn't it Mark Twain that
said, 'grieving is best done on ones own, I think, but a joy must be
shared'. Never easy is it and fast coming to the conclusion that the
only way to avoid is to leave well alone in the first place.

Feeling cold from the inside out, not wanting to eat, having to force
down a rather tasteless dinner, even though I'd selected something that
I usually relish. Nothing fancy, mash potatoes, lamb chop and opened a
tin of peas and carrots, forgot about the mint sauce until I'd
finished. Did nothing to assuage this gnawing emptiness of my stomach,
feeling like a chill inside.

Going to run a bath.

Always feel better afterwards, don't know why I don't always do it, use
to be the instinctive thing to do, now I question whether having two
soaks a day is being decadent, trying to appease my conscience with 'I
might as well indulge whilst I have the opportunity to do so'. After
slipping into the bath, I add more hot water to the point where my skin
becomes red, promoting an irresistible desire to scratch to the point
of bleeding, nothing serious, just a weird thing to do. A compulsion to
inflict physical pain upon myself. Not in the least anxious about it,
not the suicidal sort or anything like that; all thoughts in that
direction focus on me watching the mourners afterwards. Just another
ego trip, as I don't believe in any sort of after-life, just another
body crawling about the planet and one day I won't and that'll be
it.

My hair has started to fall out again; the last time that happened was
the aftermath of love. Always coincides with stressful periods,
starting to make sense of the saying 'a happy life is a quiet
life'.

Trying desperately not to look into the next move. Was it Kipling that
said, 'until you can give away all you possess and set off to start
anew, you are not a man'. Do I secretly feel the need to prove this to
myself? If I don't push beyond my boundaries, I'll never know the
answer and that's something I may not be able to live with. It doesn't
matter whether I succeed or fail, wouldn't know this as I've not really
set any objectives, a sort of ambitionless wander. What is it that I
want to do, at the moment; I would struggle to give an honest answer to
this rather simple question. Somewhere in my history it was that it
felt the right thing to do and perhaps it has just been squashed under
an avalanche of resurgent feelings that had somehow or another been
buried instead of being dealt with. This is bad news, more so as I feel
it to be so, this haunting of unsettledness is a nightmare, does it
ever end, in love's case, probably not, hence the expression, 'true
love doesn't have a happy ending, it just doesn't have an
ending'.

Just randomly opened the book in front of me and its unbelievable the
page it fell open to which said:

Take your dream, attach it to a star and never lose it. If you lose it,
you're a dead duck. You've settled for something less. This will never
do. Fight like hell for your dream and you get it. If you do, life will
be a very beautiful, wonderful and exciting thing. You cannot
compromise with people, you cannot compromise with yourself or you will
sell yourself short. If you say, 'I will not compromise in any way
shape or form; that is what I want, and I want that or nothing you'll
get it. You pay for it, yes; you get nothing for nothing.

Well that certainly told me, didn't it? No problems now just get on and
do it; I think I've allowed myself to slip into the category that
expects something for nothing, no substitute for action that's for
sure, well that's my path. The other path which will give the fruits of
the labour without the labour is as secret as the whereabouts of the
Holy Grail, and I've never met an honest person who knows it, but quite
enough dishonest ones who led me up and down dale searching for it. My
vanity would say that I would always take the untrodden way as opposed
to the well worn out path of dubious success at the expense of selling
myself short. But I'm quickly coming to the conclusion that I've been
going down the same path as every bugger else, just taking a tad longer
to learn my lessons because I didn't listen to grandmother's advice
that 'moderation is the key to a happy life'.

And on that note I'm just going to skin up, make a cup of tea and have
bowl of strawberries with carnation milk. Trying to wean myself off the
overwhelming necessity to eat sweet stuff towards the end of the day,
which consists mainly of sugary sweeties, chocolate and bowls of
Frosties, which reminds me that I forgot to get the milk today, so will
have to be a bit sparing, not being able to indulge in a cup of tea in
the mornings is definitely not the way to start the day. Feel the
longing necessity when deprived of it.

This sweetie indulgence might well be the old dope tugging munchies, I
shouldn't dismiss this possibility as my stash seems to disappear a bit
quick these days. The comforting thought is that the poor quality
justifies the quantity. This could well be self denial as I always buy
the Dutch dope competition winner and its dynamite.

That was a long break, nipped upstairs to give Pablo his keys back and
he came back down to check on what I would like him to do for me in the
apartment after I've left. And that turned into an hour and an half of
my rhetoric. Pablo informs me that he'll have to be careful in future
about what he's saying to me because I seem to have the knack of being
able to respond at length quite divergently until I change the subject
to one of my favourites of the moment. He always keeps saying, 'How
have we got on to this, it's got absolutely nothing to do with what we
were talking about'.

I told him that most people who know me well just come in, sit down and
say nothing of any consequence and just let my peroration exhaust
itself naturally, whilst listening with a polite ear. Inclination
towards discussion isn't one of my strong points, in fact, it's sort of
sticking around the starting blocks, not sure of going down that path,
not really a good listener. That's not good news either, meant to be
having a go at being a teacher, I'll be one of those sorts who just
likes the sound of his own voice with little consideration of the
audience and this would never ever do, absolutely not.

O! fuck me, what am I going to do now, just something else to worry
about and the worst thing is, it's true, it actually is what is and
there's absolutely no way out, unless I change. Bugger me, I'm
fucked.

Well it's not the first time it's happened, I can remember all too well
the first time and communicating it to the then wife, who concluded
that I was totally off my rocker and had better go to see a shrink,
choppy chop. You know what it's like, anything the wife said must be
right, whether it was or wasn't, it was, that's just way things were,
black could be white, what I'd seen I hadn't seen. Fishing became an
obsession during these rationing times of tobacco, drink and blowjobs.
Yes was a rarity, controlled moderation ruled the roost, which didn't
apply to buying her shoes.

Time to make a decision, choice of going to the shrink or living the
life of a monk, shrink sounded good.

Shrink What's your problem

Judd Wife thinks I'm mad.

Shrink Why?

Judd It dawned upon me that I'd compromised all my dreams, aspirations
and ambitions in life for a wife who majored in retail therapy, three
children, a mortgage, a dog, a cat, a canary, a couple of hamsters and
however many gold fish we won at the fair.

Shrink You're fucked!

Judd Well I thought that.

Shrink Happens to us all, get a better paid job, that'll do the trick
for a while. It's the old jungle law, either fuck or be fucked, the
irony is that most men think they are doing the fucking and end up
being the one that's fucked.

Judd How did that happen?

Shrink Your wife would have quickly assessed that you were completely
full of bullshit and so would be able to earn lots of money and your
vanity would have made you so malleable with her feminine wiles. You
would have easily believed you excited more than any other male and
your sexual expertise was beyond comparison. And that's what vanity
does for you, makes you believe what just isn't possible.

Judd Is there a different sort of female?

Shrink Absolutely not, they're all the same.

Judd What I'm I going to do?

Shrink Drop the bullshit and get rid of your ego.

Judd Will it take long?

Shrink Maybe never if you get sidetracked down the endless self pity
emotional bullshit path, otherwise a lifetime, because you have to make
the effort to do it every new day, that doesn't stop, but it's worth
it.

Judd What do I do now?

Shrink Try not to let your obstinate pride hide your true feelings and
practice is the only way.

Judd Do I need to come again?

Shrink No, I haven't got ten years to listen to your bullshit. I
suggest you dump it elsewhere, but sparingly on many, so as not to
completely fuck anybody else up.