Thursday, November 02, 2006

If you don't laugh...

...this was going to be a different kind of entry all together. I have neglected my diaries for the past few days, for reasons a-plenty, and have been updating the 2006 diary with a summary of memories and recollections. I have sporadic fits in the same style of an anxiety-riddled loner. It still takes one tone of voice, one flippant turn of phrase, and confidence crumbles. This was going to be a different kind of entry all together, and it still can be.

When I moved to Lostock Hall, it was not quite planned out, nor well executed. I slept for the three months of staying there on three sofa-cushions in a room with no heating. Moving here was down to fate and happenstance. Moving away seems somewhat unreal, quite similar to getting here, like a dream through which I am floating.

I have tried to find some form of emotion other than satisfaction, for that seems rude. "Another Suitcase in Another Hall" or whatever it is, with all the lyrics so well connected to my own situation, and "Send in the Clowns" do not work to lift me from just going through motions. Suzanne Vega is trying her best. She has just replaced "Kid A" in my run through CDs, still packed on the shelf whilst the books now rest in carrier bags. From her, I will move to the Manics, of era yet undecided.

What went on from the "moment" of earlier this week? It needs to be said, for it needs to be continued. During my lunch "hour", I spent a few minutes down a weed-strewn alleyway bawling my eyes out. The day began with a stand-up row, during which I was called a liar, sending the electricity in the air down my spine and out through my toes. All was fine until cold air hit my skin. A familiar refrain: whilst having an on-going argument with a former housemate, I was to be found on Moor Park, crying into the pond, asking to whomever could hear whether things would get easier. Should a man my age (any age?) be so open about letting the tears fall?

Anyroad, so, a day passed. Those who control the pawns ensured good serendipity. With a crack in my voice, I placed myself on the floor, and awaited the knife to the throat. It matters not, it is a currency with no value, when you know you are right when faced with an enemy who can never be wrong. This thread was going to be very different. This is an element of a wider issue, indeed. One blog for one audience, one for another, diaries for another. Scared of the public, that's me. Worried so much about sitting between two stools that I end up flat on my arse. If you don't laugh about it, you'd surely cry.

1 comment:

Chiv said...

Well, Liam, it could be worse. I can't even figure-out how to put an accent over your I on this keyboard, and I'm paying for the chance.

Nobody knows where I am, partly because I didn't want a fuss and so didn't tell them, and partly because nobody's noticed that I've been gone for more than a week. Except that you, I think, noticed I'd been a bit quiet =)

Anyway, sell everything, get yr savings together, and... oh, I just got a text from a certain Alexandra, and have to go. Opportunities to fend-off crushing loneliness are few and far between on every side of the world, it seems.