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[itsgoodbutitsnottheone-blog]

Attention.

I actually thought no-one read these things. That’s why I eased off a bit. But I noticed I’d had a couple of ‘likes’ on the last one. So I’ll carry on.

My stopping because I thought no one was reading has brought a wry smile to my face, because I’ve been thinking a lot today about facebook adoration. The way people pretend to be someone they’re not, and offer some very strong views when you call them on their bullshit, it’s really putting me off facebook. In a world where someone’s picture of dinner can attract as many ‘likes’ as someone’s new baby, then it’s not a stretch before you wonder what the fuck is going on. We all know people who comment and when you read it and think ‘bitch I know you, that’s not who you are’.

Yet now in society there’s a rise is facebook causing depression. If you surround yourself by the bullshit enough you almost create your own echo chamber. Seeing all those people constantly on holiday and spending amazing away days starts you feeling bad about your lack of holidays, family time, or nice dinners. Believing the false economy. Before you know it your having a look at a Jamie Oliver cookbook and a cheap holiday that you probably can’t afford.

The polar opposite from that is those needy wankers who post ‘so angry’ or ‘heartbroken’. Then a stream of ‘PM me hun’ and other nosey bastards who are mostly interested in gossip, or your painful demise, start messaging. I fucking love when this minor drama turns out to be that a driver cut them up or something trivial, that no one could possibly have known or guessed.

Lastly the facebook user who rips my knitting are the ones who think facebook is a spirit medium and use it to send messages to dead loved ones. ‘Ma wee granny, taken from us a year ago, she’s up in heaven now but I know she’s watching me’. Some of the shit these people get up to then they best hope granny isn’t up there watching. And in the off chance facebook has WiFi and their laptop died with them then I would fucking LOVE ‘dead granny likes this’. 😂 of course the post isn’t for the benefit of dead granny. It’s the other likes they’re looking for. A caviate to that is the ‘birthday wishes’ for kids who don’t even have facebook. ‘Want to wish my son Rory a happy birthday, he’s 2 today’. Right. Get aff facebook, turn round to your child, and tell them bloody happy birthday to their face you like fishing dick. Ha ha ha.

The best thing I’ve seen on facebook in the last while was the comment ‘if anyone is stuck for a costume this Halloween, go as the person you pretend to be on facebook’.

Rant over. I’m stepping down from my soapbox.

Back to see what’s happening on facebook.

(Dead granny likes this)

[itsgoodbutitsnottheone-blog]

Confusion

Sometimes I think I’m one step behind, sometimes I think I’m one step ahead. It’s like I’m thinking about things 3 moves ahead. Or I’m well behind the curve and no one understands what I’m thinking. When I try to explain ideas it’s like people are so far behind what I’m thinking. And then I need to explain, and explain, and explain. To the point where I feel like it’s me that’s the person who doesn’t grasp the concept right.

Now I know I’m not super fast. I know I’m not a genius. But I do seem to get things quickly. When I try to move people on my level I seem to lose them. I’m not infallible. Far from it. I make lots of mistakes. But I also pick things up quickly. Who knows. I don’t know why people put up with me.

[itsgoodbutitsnottheone-blog]

Hangover

What the actual fuck is happening to my body today. As I lie here in the curled up ball position, shaking like 16 skeletons wanking in a biscuit tin. I cast my mind back to last nights drinking. The inevitable drunken chat and misunderstandings. Seriously considering a vodka and bleach curer. Listening to Mumford and sons and wondering how many sons he actually has. Must be pikeys.

This hangover thing. I mean surely someone must be trying to invent a cure for it. I feel this is much more important to me than a cure for the common cold. (How do you know if you have the uncommon cold?) surely if they can put a pigs heart into a human and have him running marathons and shit then they can cure a bloody hangover? Clearly not trying hard enough.

Also, the age thing doesn’t work well with the drink thing. Or the work thing. Or the school night thing. Report card would definitely read ‘does not play well with others’. Speaking of which, the fear has also debilitatated me and I cannot bring myself to go for a cooked chicken because of the level of social interaction required. The walk into town would likely do me good. But again, bed and a movie seems like the better option.

The cash thing too. Although I only spent £10 last night, it’s mental to think I paid to feel like this. It’s like paying someone £5 to kick you in the sack. Then you get into work and everyone’s like ‘you last night....’ etc etc. Insert stupid act or offensive comment where appropriate. Or likely inappropriate.

So yeah. Great night. Thanks guys.

[itsgoodbutitsnottheone-blog]

Head space

You spend so much time in your own headspace. Sitting planning for tomorrow in order to keep your mind off the difficult things today throws in front of you. Sitting wishing your life away.

Right now I’m in the car heading back to England, and a week in the field. I proper cant see it far enough. My thoughts are turning to getting out, and the next chapter of my life. It honestly can’t come soon enough. Sure enough the services have done a lot for me, and continue to do a lot for me. But enough is enough. When it lashing it down with rain, I want to be in an office watching people outside in the rain. Not getting on the back of a 4 tonne truck to go and spend a week in a wood block and walking about the fields. I want the only time I get wet to be walking from the train to the office, or at the pool, or on a golf course. The rest you can keep.

That is the dream just now, unfortunately the reality is going to be me, pisswrapped and freezing on exercise. If anyone says civvies pay good money for this I’ll slap the taste out of their mouth. Lol. Undoubtedly I’ll be looking for my happy place, which for now will be in my own headspace. Thinking of what I’m going to do with my lump sum. What improvements I’ll do to the house. What adventures civvie street will bring.

If it’s anything like what’s in my head, then I wish it was now.

[itsgoodbutitsnottheone-blog]

Sport value.

At the risk of devaluing my blog I’ve decided that rather than searching for stuff to write about I’m likely only going to update it whenever I have something interesting to say. For some that will be never, to which I politely offer them to Foxtrot Oscar anyway. Today has largely been spent on the couch with the wee guy. We’ve been doing a one for you/ one for me approach. So we had toy story 2 followed by the Chelsea game. Now we are on Rio. He’s had pizza, I’ve had cinnamon buns. He’s had juice, I’ve had tea. So it’s been a nice day tbh.

During the Chelsea game I was thinking on the wages the players get these days and the restrictions on their lifestyle. Being a top level athlete would undoubtedly have a huge impact on your life. Not being able to go out to certain places, only being able to drink on certain nights, so on and so forth. Look at the media frenzy when auguerro injured himself in an rta at a concert. The same when Rory mcilroy injured himself playing 5’s with his mates. Surely these stars should be allowed some time to themselves to do the things they enjoy? But there are plenty who would see them bubble wrapped until they take to the pitch.

Some will be thinking ‘quite right for 150k a week’. But when you consider they only work till 40, unless they go into coaching, then they need to make as much as they can, as quick as they can. And with so many restrictions on their private life, and the media focus on them, fed with the fact that anyone with a smartphone now could get them in bother, then is it any wonder a lot of them need sports therapists and other mental health treatment. Now I’m far from saying ‘those poor athletes’. But at the same time perhaps some of the demands on them are excessive. I’m surprised we don’t see more ‘tiger woods’ style collapses. Especially in the age of social media where players are very accessible for criticism. I’m not sure if I would be as happy if I had all that money but all those restrictions on my life. Although they do seem to get a lot of time to play golf.

Perhaps it is better to be the guy lying on the couch, with your son cuddled into you, watching the game. Or the guy in the pub, smashing a bar lunch and a few pints. Than to be the millionaire footballer running about the pitch, facing the media, the fans, going back to his club, driving home, to sit and watch match of the day with a Pepsi and a plate of pasta.

[itsgoodbutitsnottheone-blog]

Strange

The drive home and the usual Scottish weather cannot damped the spirit of coming home. There’s a deeply satisfying feeling washes over you when you walk in the door and your son sees you for the first time in weeks. You then get a period of him being strange with you.

I know it’s been a while, but I’ve been away working to get you pennies. Anyway, a wee play together and he’s started coming out his shell. Is it him that’s strange, or is it me that’s strange?

It must be hard for him to realise what goes on. God knows sometimes I do! Like when you remember you need something, walk to the place where the thing is, and then forget what the thing you wanted was. Much to the delight of the bemused people in the room.

Is it what we consider to be strange that makes it strange, or what you consider to be normal. As Frankie Boyle says, this used to be considered ‘being a bit of a character’. We all know one or two of them. I mean fuck being normal anyway. Not that most of us ever had a chance.

As long as your not cutting about Morrisons wearing a long duffel coat, with a kitten in your pocket, buying 20 tins of spaghetti hoops, a pack of Kleenex, and a box of ultra thin; then chances are your level of strange is just another layer of colour for society.

Anyway, I’m off to see if this kitten will eat his spaghetti hoops.

[itsgoodbutitsnottheone-blog]

Tired.

Why is it when your tired everything is so hard to do. I Knew I had an early start today and still didn’t manage to get to sleep till late on. Then when I got to work I was tired. Having to put on the ‘interested’ face when your hanging out is the worst part. Then people start expecting things from you. Asking you questions.  All you can think about is how your going to be spending extra long in your bed that night. 

You labour through the day and some how manage to make it to lunch, where of course you don’t nap, because you have other more pressing needs at that stage; like the need to eat, and the need to get the fuck away from your desk. Apparently Einstein used to nap with a pencil in his hand and when he dropped it, that was the sign that he’d napped enough. I would likely stab myself in the face with the pencil as I face planted onto the desk. 

As the day drags on you feel worse and worse. Then by the time you finish and get back to your room your in the hurt locker. If you sleep now, you’ll wake at 10pm and be awake for hours. But if you don’t you’ll be in a bad place. 

Then you break through the wall. Your over tired, and when you do try to go to sleep your body rejects it faster than a big issue seller. Suddenly your lying awake, staring at the ceiling, and getting frustrated with yourself for not sleeping. Eventually you drift off. And bang. The alarm. 

[itsgoodbutitsnottheone-blog]

Decisions

��How do people make decisions? Aside from all the usual easy decisions we make, such as how do you fancy your eggs in the morning, shall I get the next bus because I don’t like the look of that person, or whether to have a glass of wine or not. All these decisions sort of make themselves. But it’s the life changing ones I’m thinking of. The ones that have massive implications. 

There’s a strong process involved here. I’ve just completed the risk management module of my studies and there was a lot of chat about ‘mindfulness’ and ‘knowing the unknown’- which probably sounds as fucking stupid to you as it did to me. But the academic thinking on risk and decision making is vast. Do you look at option A then compare it with option B? Do you decide not to do something based on how badly it can go? Such as wearing white trousers, or some food choices. The old “whats the worst that can happen”. At this stage, someone would be using their index finger to push their glasses into place at the bridge of their nose, giving a snort of indignation, and starting ‘well actually......’ But I wonder how these people who do these massive long ponderous moves ever get anything done. Or even get a date. 

I suppose it’s all to do with your attitude to risk. I think this is where I fall into. I’m very much in the camp who weigh up the options, considers the potential negatives, then think “fuck it, whatever it will be...it will be interesting”.

Then we come to the fact that it can always get worse. Before long your sitting in the dark, listening to Damien Rice, with a bottle of red wine that you’ve managed to fuck up the cork and had to open it with a butter knife. However, the worlds good that way. It gives you time to have that moment in time, before you get up the next day and see the gas bill has arrived. 

[itsgoodbutitsnottheone-blog]

Christmas lights.

As I was shaving this morning I spent some time thinking about life and found myself hovering over my jugular. ha ha. I started thinking about how dark it was when I got up, which then had me thinking of how the nights are drawing in. It feels like we never really had a summer. Thinking about the death of summer invariably had me thinking about Christmas. 

I used to love Christmas as a kid, for the obvious reasons. My family spent more than they likely could afford to lavish me with gifts and treats. Growing up in a moderate sized family who all lived close by was great fun. Then as a teenager I remember coming in from the nightclub, in a whirlwind of aftershave and tequila, falling asleep on the couch with the tree lights on. There was something about the glow of those lights and the memories they commit you to. That is a fond memory, and now when I think of Christmas it is now tied into the joy of others much smaller than me. I wonder how the boy will view the Christmas lights this year? It’s only the second time he’s seen them, and last time he was not quite as interactive as he is now. We also get to take him to the Christmas market and see his little face light up at all the lights, sounds and smells. Their significance slightly wasted on him, but his presence enhancing our experience significantly. 

It’s funny how a song, a scent, or a dark room when the alarm starts screaming, can take you back to some happy memories. Unfortunately reality came flooding back and hit me like stepping on the scales 5 days after new years. Christmas was still months away. I’m sure there are little goals which have to be tucked under the belt between now and then but they are so minuscule that I can’t see them from here. A few more months of the grind before I can see those lights. There’s weeks of rain, struggle, probably snow, arguments, cuddles, and money worries (those toys aren’t going to buy themselves). Whilst being surrounded with the ever earlier Christmas displays in the shop windows. It all seems so far away, whilst being perpetually present. 

There’s (Christmas) light at the end of the tunnel. 

[itsgoodbutitsnottheone-blog]

First Blog.

As I sit here pondering wether or not to actually bother the universe with my musings I realise that this may be for therapeutic reasons. If no one even notices then did it ever really happen? 

Sort of a diary of me trying to make sense of the everyday struggles that are work, growing old, constantly being made to feel like the middle alpha male in the kingdom, and other quandary.

Hence the name selection, ‘it’s good but it’s not the one’. The theme from catchphrase where you say what you see. You call it how you see it, and invariably are wrong. As so often I feel these days. 

So by way of my first blog I’ll tell you a bit about me (the artist) and give the reader a bit of a feel for this tawdry production. 

Firstly I’m a 38 year old male. Just turned 38 as it would happen. Whilst not in the full throes of a midlife crisis just yet, I am starting to resent the milage. I have a partner, more of her later, a lovely boy to her, two kids I hardly see because of work commitments and my ex is a total bitch, perhaps more of her later. I’m currently in a full time job in the armed forces, I won’t divulge too much of this incase I am hauled in front of the brass and shot for my views. And the rest we’ll kind of fill in as I go along. 

Ok, are we sitting comfortably? Then I shall begin. 

And by begin I want to elaborate on my morning routine. I mean this mornings alarm. What the fuck is my alarm tone all about. I think I need something more chipper to drag my arse out of bed. Who the fuck even listens to them anymore anyway? I very soon realise that I have not had anywhere near enough sleep, as I can’t turn off my overactive mind. I look around my bed and consider ‘who the fuck ate that bag of crips last night? Am I a secret eater? One of those channel 4 specials? Or had the bag drifted out from under the bed from a previous moment? Anyway, time was kicking on. No time for breakfast, I had people waiting for me. It was a quick shave and straight to the gym. Not exactly a chosen morning ritual but the services demand I keep in some form of reasonable shape. The morning hell hole where tiredness, moodiness and a few other ness’s were being run out of my system. Surrounded by people in better shape than me, even though I was going faster for longer, their actual shape was better than mine. How am I so fucking portly?! Damn you genetics! So I went back and when I came out the shower the morning text from the significant other had arrived. A quick status update on the boy. Now thats love for you. It would seem as the morning humdrum descends, I am to face the day with no love from home. Not even a kiss these days. but hey ho. And like the dutiful little member of society. I set off to work.