Archive for the ‘30 Days’ Category

A letter to yourself. Tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself.

At the risk of ending on a sour note, no. I’ve mentioned all my good points in other posts, and I can’t be arsed going over them again. Especially note in such a self-congratulatory way that reeks of someone trying to buoy themselves up as if they’re listening to a self-help tape. “I am a unique and special person.” Fuck off.

This is the end of the little 30 Days experiment, hope you enjoyed it. It’s been of variable quality I know, some days I was tired or couldn’t be fucked, others there just wasn’t much to say on the matter. It did give a little bit of structure I suppose and got me talking about things I otherwise wouldn’t have. From now on though it’s back to regular blog posts, which I feel I’ve neglected a bit due to not having the time to do both things.

The adventures of Johny continue…

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Something you hope to change about yourself. And why.

I’ll keep it short, as this has been covered a before. Simply I want to change the situation I’m in just now. Mostly lose more weight and become fitter, for the obvious reasons that I’ll look and feel better. Move out of this house and become self-sufficient is the next big milestone in my life. Even though the housing situation here is a joke, few can afford to live themselves, waiting on a council house will take years, and many normal young guys are still living with their parents, I feel like I’m going to turn into Norman Bates before long. I need out of the cell that I have, I need my own set of keys, my own space basically. There’s also the fact that I’d love to be able to say that “mine” doesn’t also have four other people in it ranging from 15 to 52.

More money, we could all do with it right? A job that I don’t mind going to in the morning, pays more than enough to live in the flat I’ll go back to at night, and has a chance of letting me climb higher for even more money.

I want to change my default setting of procrastination as well, which I am slowly getting over as time goes on.

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What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?

Do exactly what I did the last couple of times: shit myself. I don’t want a baby, especially not with the kind of girls I’ve been with. Fuck, I was with a girl five years and I still didn’t want her to be the mother of my (sweet Jesus please) firstborn. Right now would be a seriously bad time for it. Living with parents, unemployed and my biggest concern is where I’m going to get my hole from next? That kind of situation does not a good baby make.

The first pregnancy scare I had was back when I was fifteen. Sex was awesome and condoms were the devil, so I went in bare and had to fight against every instinct I had in order to make my arse go in reverse when I wanted to come. Sooner or later it was going to happen: she told me she was late and my heart tried to tear itself out of my chest and sprint for the door. We had the same conversation as the one I had a few years later with Ex. It roughly revolved around what she was thinking, how she felt, and me trying to gently steer the conversation in the direction of “we’re too young, it would be mental if we did it” without ever saying the word abortion, because then all the cards have been laid on the table and it’s a great weapon to be used against you later on. So I listed all the downsides, and there were many, of having a kid. Thankfully in both (or three, I can’t remember) instances it turned out they weren’t pregnant. From then on I was considerably more careful though. When a male pill is developed, I think the human race in the western hemisphere will die out.

However if I did end up getting a girl pregnant, then I would bend over backwards to support her, and make sure that I looked after my kid. I might not want one, but when it comes down to it I’d be there. For all I may joke about running a mile, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Even if it wasn’t a happy little nuclear family, she’d never be a single mum. That’s in the best case scenario of course, which I hope it would be, and that I didn’t knock up some crazy vindictive bitch that would use our kid as a weapon. I’ve seen it happen, doesn’t matter if the guy loves his kid, the woman can’t see beyond herself, or even has the kid tell the dad that they don’t love him any more. Men are prone to acting like cunts as well, never being around or being bastards when they are. Being a dad is off the cards for years to come yet…

…I’ve went and jinxed it haven’t I?

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What’s the best thing going for you right now?

I suppose there’s a couple of things. I’ve got drive now, not in any certain direction but I’m powering through things like a blind bear on speed. Even got myself a little white lie if anyone asks what it is I do so I don’t need to answer with “lol dunno.” Right now I’m looking for work and planning on doing an access course to Glasgow Uni so that I can do a degree that changes depending on what the lady in question might like most. Saying I’m going to be a brain surgeon isn’t very believable, but stuff like zoology, politics, literature etc, that gets a good reception. Not a complete lie when I don’t know myself right?

Other things… um, a car? A lot of people not driving, whereas I own mine outright, it’s a five door and has yet to completely break down on me. I’m tall, nothing to dry up a clunge than being a short fat guy after all. I’m not shy, find it easy to talk to people, like animals, only scare children deliberately, have no STDs… Fuck knows. I’m not daft, not ugly to the point of deformation, have enough money to a buy a girl a drink, the usual shit. Over and out.

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Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?

Surprisingly enough no. Sure, I’ve felt like complete and utter shite at times, with long periods of being a miserable bastard, but suicide has never been on the cards. I think I’m too stubborn if nothing else, and suicide seems so pointless when you think about it. Think about our relationship, me and you, whoever you are. We’re strangers, I don’t know you and you only know me through the things I choose to put on this blog. You could be twenty, thirty, forty years old and you’ve went decades without knowing who the hell I am. You don’t think of me beyond the times you read this blog and if I stopped posting tomorrow I’d soon vanish out of your mind until two years from now when you decide to tidy up all your bookmarks, because obviously this site is amongst your favourites, sandwiched between an interesting Wikipedia article and a porn video with the girl that looks a lot like the one that was way out of your league in school. It’s the most tenuous of links, go back to the seventies and I’m the second cousin of a friend of a friend’s uncle they haven’t seen since they were five. We’re not very close is what I’m saying, and all my drama doesn’t much matter.

It’s all about perspective. Sure, every day might be painful for me, and all I want to do is go back to sleep so another day can pass without being tortured by my own messed up mind, but do you care? Course not, you monster! But still, I decide to go throw myself off of a bridge. That’s me dead. You only live an hour’s drive away, you don’t give a fuck. You don’t even hear about it unless I say I’m going to do it beforehand (it’ll be off of somewhere high, I want to enjoy the trip down at least, seriously) and it makes the news, with you bothering to connect the dots. A handful of people are truly distraught, a few more really rather upset, couple dozen maybe quite sad, another couple dozen say it’s a shame, the rest don’t care. Each and every one of them will wake up the next day and go about their business, I fade from memory and the world moves on. Is it fucked up that I don’t kill myself because my life is insignificant?

I see it as accepting defeat and giving in, at least concerning myself anyway. If things are a fight, then there’s no fucking way I’m going to lose. Plus there’s that macho aspect to it, that others are weaker for doing it, whereas I’m stronger and therefore superior. I sound as if I’ve given a lot of thought to it, but never honestly considered it. Self-harm on the other hand… well, it depends on who you ask.

My mid-teens were a bit of a shit time all round. I was fighting at home, fighting on the street, not doing well in school, had a fucked up girl in the shape of Rose, and generally living the srs-bsns bit of Skins. A significant number of the girls and a few boys were into self-harming. They did the usual cutting on the arms, a few on the legs, all hidden up with a sour demeanour and long sleeves. I could relate. Still can. Pain is a cleansing thing for me, I don’t go out of my way to seek it, but I don’t suffer a great deal from it either. When your mind feels muddled, hazy, disorganised, pain strips all that away. It gives things clarity and something to focus on other than whatever it is that’s getting you down. I didn’t cut myself, I had rugby instead. It let me blow off steam, and the angrier I got the harder I hit, the better I played. Afterwards in the showers the cuts from having studs dragged down me or rucked on the ground would sting, then once I got home the bruises would start to appear. The next morning I could enjoy waking up with the usual muscular aches and pains like there always was. I didn’t need razor blades or MCR, I got a pat on the back with my pain relief. I didn’t play just for the masochistic side of things, I enjoyed the competition and being part of a team too, the injuries were just an addition to all of that. It got me out of the house a few times a week as well.

I understand how some people do want to just end all of their pain, after years with Ex I get that more than most, but I’ve never thought that it’d be a better option to living. So if you’re down, go get some help you moody cunt!

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The reason you believe you’re still alive today.

Dumb luck I suppose. I’ve not really had to overcome a huge number of trials to get here and I’ve never exactly been destitute. Where I live it’s the people that’ll kill you rather than the environment, and they’re relatively easy to avoid. We killed all the wolves centuries ago and the most dangerous species of snake hasn’t killed anyone in decades. No malaria or mosquitoes, just incredibly annoying midges, and the insects are shit. There wasn’t much of a circle of poverty to fall into so while I’ve got next to fuck all money myself, I have at least got a roof over my head and a pillow under it.

How I grew up without any broken bones I’ll never know. Kids at school used to come in plaster more than they did shoes from falling off of bikes or ruining an ankle with a mis-timed jump from a garage roof. I was encouraged to go and climb trees and the steep hills in the countryside. The only thing I ever heard about safety at rugby was to make sure I wore my gumshield. The pinkies on either hand are a bit fucked, and I did get kicked in the nose which I think broke it, plus I had the lobe of my ear torn a little bit, and obviously my lip split open and arse crack excavated, but other than that I’ve been fit as a fiddle. Nothing really life threatening.

Only been in one car crash, that was a bit rubbish and a lot less exciting than I thought it would be. To think my first car was a write-off with a gay collision when there was a lovely big embankment that I could’ve rolled it down instead. Might as well have done it in style after all. As I mentioned it’ll be people that land you in the hospital rather than dirty water or hippos, but as long as you don’t go looking for a fight or that you’d shy away from one it’s easy to lead a peaceful life.

What I’m trying to say is that Scotland isn’t the most dangerous place in the world, that’s how I’ve trundled on this long. I’ll ask for Burma in my next life for a little bit of variety.

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Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs.

Fuck that, this isn’t a chick flick. Here’s a few quick songs that various people you don’t know will get, with a little message to them that they won’t read…

This was our soundtrack to last winter when we both practically lived in my car. To date the only song like this that I’ve ever sang along to while acting like Thelma and Louise. I turn it off whenever I hear the opening few bars now partly because I’ve listened to it so many times, and partly because it reminds me of a specific time that I don’t want the memory of tarnished by ruining it with today’s thoughts.

Alright yeah, I admit it, not all of The Beatles songs are shite and they do have some redeeming qualities. The lot of us blaring it out while breaking my speakers was nice. And ruining my voice for a few days after it, cheers.

The old ice skating we used to go to back when we were kids and all those hormones first started kicking in with the lot of us. The big circle round the outside and the middle section where the DJ. I got thrown out once because one of the teenagers tried to kick me with his skates on so I reached up as high as I could to smack him for it and got caught. 

Coming through your really shitty tinny phone speakers while we both lay in the scud on your bed because your CD player was fucked and having the TV on annoyed. How in the hell did this become our post-coital soundtrack?

Starting from around a minute in when the vocals begin, this was playing on my stereo and as my ringtone when I waited with bated breath for you to text or reply online. Didn’t realise the Freudian lyrics until much later on. You were the first of a new era, and a harsh lesson I’m glad I learned early on.

Just… what the hell was I doing? What were we doing? We weren’t exactly friendly or intimate, yet there we were spending a fuckton of time together when there was absolutely no reason to. Christ am I glad that’s over. You’re fucked up brain spread hen.

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Something you wish you had done in your life.

More. I’ve coasted for fucking years, I can feel it, and you can all see it. I wish I’d have killed myself with exhaustion by now. I should’ve studied, partied, fought, fucked, drank, smoked and trained harder than I ever did. I should never have sat staring at walls with boredom or spent hours a day sitting on my arse with nothing to show for it.

Now I’m trying to fill up my days with something, so when I pass out at night I can at least say that I had fulfilled some sort of task, even if it is just keeping a room tidy or walking the dog a bit further each day. One thing that made me realise how much of my life I was pissing away, and how I could easily change it was one short clip from a film called The Acid House. I’ve never seen another film that made me stop and go “Shit, that cunt’s right!” Maybe it was a Scottish god, maybe I seen too much of myself in young Boab there. In either case, I find that my mind drifts back to this whenever I do find myself wasting time on something, and it gives me a bit of drive.

So you had the powers! You just couldn’t be bothered usin’ them.”

I think if I were ever to get a quote tattoo, that would be the one.

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Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.

I’ll not go into any great detail as I’ve went over it before, but I suppose my biggest regret would be not going to the doctors straight away when I first noticed the problem with my back. I’ve done some stupid shit, stuff that would make you angry or plain cringe in embarrassment, but going untreated for so long has probably been the most foolish thing I’ve ever done. I’m not going into a depressing coulda been a contender rant, but things would’ve (hopefully) been vastly different. No, it’s going to be a thoughtful, alternate history discussion instead.

For starters I would have got the operation anywhere up to two years earlier, so I would have been fifteen instead of seventeen. The surgery itself would have been far less severe (Time Team on my arse remember) and the recovery period ranging from a few weeks to a couple of months, rather than the year and a half it did take. I would have taken time off of school, rather than basically leaving early. So I would have been able to go back and not spend the entire year after school ended trying to lie on my front to recuperate. The injury wouldn’t have been so damaging to my chances of playing rugby again, and I most likely would have went back. Friendships would’ve been in far better repair and all the weight I piled on and then continued to pile on would’ve been burned off on the rugby pitch. I like to think that my exam results would have been better, my last chance of sitting them spoiled by me not thinking ahead far enough and my universe mainly being lying on my bed. So I might have been in uni or working already, I might not have ended up going out with Ex, all sorts of things could have happened.

But I didn’t make the best of a bad situation, I know that, and I’m struggling to make up for it. But I am, slowly but surely. Eye of the Tiger, all that pish.

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Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?

If the fight was bad enough that I couldn’t put aside whatever it was the fight was about, then chances are I’m the one responsible for the “accident” in the first place. People break up and friendships fall apart over insignificant shite all the time. All you need is one minor irritant and two people who won’t back down in front of the other. Happens all the time, leaving plenty of people bitter for years when all it might take is one meeting and an admittance that everyone was a fool. I’ve been fortunate enough that anything that might have turned into a big argument has ended with both of us saying “fuck it” then forgetting about it without letting it simmer on underneath and unresolved.

So yeah, if I ever got the call that something had happened to them, I’d drop everything and be there as soon as I possibly could, everyone would.

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