Now, what was it that I was thinking about when I first took to the laptop again? I was thinking about not thinking and the waste of time that would be if I didn’t get my shit together and start thinking again. The problem with the UK is that it does present problems to think about.
Take my wife, not literally, the bloody lawn mower refused to start. I knew that it would. I knew that it wouldn’t help the situation. There is my ‘loveliness’ on her birthday and she wants to do something that needs to be done; the lawn. So the mower, the mower, decides, as it always does, to refuse to start.
“Why did you buy a piece of shit like that?” she asked me; and that was on her birthday.
“It’s not shit. It just takes a bit of coaxing.”
Don’t we fucking all?
“That’s a rhetorical question isn’t it, sir?”
“Who fucking knows?”
I just caught myself in the mirror. I was playing some music on my iPhone to stop, to slow me down, to halt the Big Dipper dip into screaming madness. It was eighties music, Simple Minds, I Promised you a Miracle, and I saw myself, ME. I looked at ME and nodded. It was like looking at an old friend with whom I had parted company with a long time ago. We looked across the decades and smiled.
“You are okay, aren’t you?” I asked and the mirror ME nodded.
“We have been through a lot haven’t we?”
“Thank you for coming back, my old friend. Dude, I like you.”
I looked deep into him and he smiled. I thought I had gotten through it, I thought I had made it to the other side. No. There were more surprises. Perhaps the wine had been enjoyed too much, yet I was fairly compos mentis.
“Did you do Latin when you were at school?”
“Caligula est en atrium. Fuck knows why.”
I am half way through my life and looking for meaning. When I looked at myself, I was reminded of all the things that I sought to do. I tried and I failed. It hurt. It hurt a lot. It hurt so much that I wanted to stop it all from hurting ever again. And I am here, on an island that is some way between Spain and England. It is not even strange.