Saturday, November 04, 2006

AM: I wake up this morning with something major bothering me. After last nights dinner invite, a dinner where I most rudely wound up just passing out on the floor after my week routine grind, it occurred to me that my two returning friends to Colchester have just managed to immediately slip right back into a social scene and social happenings within a matter of days, pulling up a rock and uncovering a group that I thought had long flown the coup of Colchester. As usual I take this as a reflection on me, remembering that the world revolves around me, and I guess this is just another timely reminder of just how antisocial I have become. And this despite me making all the correct moves in the straight, working hard, working towards goals putting in place, authorised and approved by the generation before me. Why do people not like me? What is it about me that pushes people away and scares them off? I would say this doesn’t really bother me but when I see my friends thriving and happy when I feel stuck floundering, working all the hours God gives me and winding up unable to even take £10 out of my bank account, something obviously niggles me. I have had these concerns for years but often I have been told to “stick with the program” and that I will be “laughing in the end”. Now post 30, I do not really feel any elevated or progressed than I was more than five years ago.

So who plants these seeds in my mind? I should not and will not give them credit.

Despite my best efforts, my relentless body clock sees me wide awake at 6.30 this morning, shivering and saddened.

PM: Today turns out to be mainly another weekend write off, instead of doing anything useful I choose to watch the Clash documentary Westway To The World.

Cardiff are in town today playing Colchester United in a high profile game which means the infamous Soul Crew are in tow. Bored I choose to head to my parents for some dinner, popping into town in the process, not that I have any money, just a silly letter to deliver to Natwest. I do manage to get last month’s issue of Plan B before it gets taken off the shelves. I see a few faces in town I recognise but none to the point of acknowledgement. I see all the hood rat kids at Culver Square, all white, all gobby.

As I return to my parent’s place I find myself sat in their home moping, almost in a sulk. I have no idea why I feel so flat and I feel bad that it shows and reflects so heavily, I would really like to make the effort to be on a high for those that care for me most but today it just feels a bridge too far.

I managed to wangle an invitation from Justin last night to head to Ipswich for the fireworks (and Racton had invited me down to Streatham earlier in the week) but it is just too bitterly cold. I suddenly remember my greatest fireworks night, the one five years ago when B and I headed up to Ipswich on a chilly Saturday night to watch that silly Reese Witherspoon makeover movie (Legally Blonde) and go to eat out afterwards (rather romantically, ahem, we would ended up in Pizza Hut). That night always made me feel bad for how great it was at the time and how lousy things turned one week later. On this day five years ago I had rarely felt more attracted and more warm to one person as B looked her best and acted at her friendliest. Suddenly it almost cheers to think that I have found a reason to be depressed, down and justified in being mopey. Pretty pathetic. And I guess this is the sort of stuff that gave reason for B to criticise me for “living in the past”.

As the atmosphere feels icy inside as well as outside, the old man and I end up watching Frasier and laughing together (the old man struggling himself for overdosing and doubling up on his insulin shot). Poor old mum serves us up some Asda Chinese meals in trays and I show no gratitude as I whinge that I still don’t like rice but at least it gets us talking. Actually, I’m a good guy and don’t whinge and grab the closest bottle of tomato ketchup and cake the rice in red stuff.

I had no intention is spending the entirety of my Saturday evening hanging out with my parents but when Dad tells me of some disturbing behaviour by his PC, I feel obliged to run Panda’s online scan. And this little good deed engulfs my whole evening as the scan runs for about three hours, during which time it unearths two dialers on the computer (one called “Teen” and created on my birthday in 2004 apparently). Whilst doing this I also set up the PC on Last.fm.

From my parents’ apartment I am able to get a really good view of the Colchester landscape/horizon and I listen to the huge explosions of Fireworks/Bonfire Night in the background. With each passing year the explosions seem to get louder and lighter.

I finally get home at 10PM to my empty cold flat. There will be no fireworks in here tonight.

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