Waking up can be difficult at times.
Today the sunlight of truth prised open my eyes, waking me from my sleep of ignorance as I discovered that in 2008, 5706 UK citizens took their own life.
Initially I took a moment to contemplate why someone would wish to pay the ultimate price to pass through a toll gate into a brick wall; this curiosity was, however, short lived and rapidly replaced with gratitude that my own outlook on life automatically steers me down a different road, albeit on a congested motorway flooded with car wrecks...of the non-proverbial variety.
In keeping with my own flawless ability to ruin a perfectly good day for myself, I, somehow, managed to drive my car into the back of the car ahead. In truth the driver in front of me had just been stopped in his tracks by another driver who adopted a bull-like characteristic and accelerated at the sight of a red traffic signal.
Realising what he had done, and clearly in no mood to face the consequences of his actions, the coward who caused the accident drove away before anybody else’s senses had returned.
Maybe old uncle Karma will fancy paying him a visit soon? It would be nice to get him out of my hair for a few days at the very least!
Needless to say my entire weekend was ruined, as was my mood. Owing to the accident my seat was vacant at the West Brom game (I hate missing the football) and I had sustained two injuries; a lower back pain and a severe fracture to my pride. Both will heal much quicker than the imminent £500 hole in my bank balance caused by the pending shovel of insurance excess!
I saw Sunday as an opportunity to take a few steps towards repairing my outlook of the weekend. So I went to play football. I hadn’t played in any given capacity for around three years but it always used to cheer me up so I figured it couldn’t do any harm to give it a go.
As it so happens I was awful. Kicking a piece of inflated leather is a lot harder than I recall. Regardless of the obvious lack of skill, I was actually having such a good time! The process of running myself into the ground, physically speaking, really had the desired effect and before long the memory of my accident was pushed right to the back of my mind.
That is...until I hurt myself.
Somehow I swung my leg to kick the football and kicked my friend instead. Don’t worry, he was fine, although my ankle did swell to the size of a small apple. A really small one, like a crab apple.
Again, I reverted back to feeling sorry for myself. This couldn’t be old uncle Karma, what does he have against my ankle?
So in hindsight last weekend was one I would rather forget (which does bring an air of contradiction to the whole point of looking back in hindsight). If I could return to last Saturday and catch the train instead, I would, but I can’t and that low is one I’ll have to deal with.
One thing I have learnt over my brief 22 year stint on this planet is that the low moments are well worth dealing with because the highs, however few and far between they may be, are too amazing to not capture!
Sometimes you may just need to seek the highs while the lows land in your lap. But could I ever take my own life and starve myself of the next high?
OK, so last weekend highlighted that this can be a cruel existence that we live and has caused me to take a new stance; this world can throw whatever it likes at me.
It can put me through as many car wrecks as it can muster because if I was ever presented with the choice of this life or no life at all, I wouldn’t even need a second to consider.
Hello cruel world...
Saturday 27 March 2010
Monday 15 March 2010
The art of giving up...
May 7th 1945, German troops finally laid down their arms after six years of bloody, hell bent warfare.
I would wish anyone, trying to pinpoint a more significant example of surrender, good luck.
Although I join the mass ranks of individuals who are eternally grateful for what was sacrificed during the Second World War to maintain our great nation’s liberty, my focus today is set solely on a much less significant mark in the history books.
In my opinion, the foundation for a real friendship is the ideology that you never give up, regardless of material circumstance. Of course, the beautiful thing about friendship is that there never has, and never will be, any written laws but given the chance there are certain shores that you naturally would never intentionally swim to...
So many waves to ride, such a small surfboard.
Recently I found myself laid flat, face down in the shallow, salty waters of regret as I failed to attend the celebration that had been planned for an old friend’s birthday. Granted, this was due to my own lack of sobriety at another friend’s gathering, which led to me spending my night with them instead. The next morning I promptly apologised for my no-show and offered to buy my old friend dinner. Never being the type to buy anyone dinner, I had made this offer simply for one purpose; to see my friend.
My offer was ignored and before long I realised that under the shallow waters, where I currently resided, lurked an ominous pit of quicksand. No, Craig, you’re not going anywhere just yet.
The entirety of the conversation I had with my ‘old friend’ is unimportant. What I will highlight was her apparent need to hurt my feelings. Perhaps she took pleasure in mocking personal battles that I have had to deal with over several years, or maybe her response was simply a product of the ‘tit for tat’ culture that seems to have engulfed at least part of her personality.
Either way I was greeted with a torrent of abuse, underlined by several strongly negative interjections.
Finally, with her white flag of surrender waving frantically, it was suggested that we would never be friends. The quick sand dissolved and there has been no contact since.
Art is the process or product of deliberately arranging elements in a way that appeals to the senses or emotions.
When it comes to words I am anything but tone deaf, so when I stumbled across the above definition of ‘Art’ a chord was struck that has since been playing its way around my thoughts.
You see, I can’t help but feel that an unfair, perhaps even distorted, picture has been painted here. In fact, if this was the work of Van Gough I believe his other ear would be subject to the bread knife any time now.
Has the person in question convinced themselves that I am just a bad person? Have they conveniently pieced a jigsaw together made of entirely misconstrued circumstance?
I am sincere enough to place on record how sorry I am for my mistakes, all of them, which have affected anyone.
You will be spared the speech of my sudden realisation as to who my real friends are. I’ve always known exactly who they are.
As far as my friendship with my ‘old friend’ goes; Gingerly, my door will always be ajar.
I guess I just haven’t mastered the art of giving up...
I would wish anyone, trying to pinpoint a more significant example of surrender, good luck.
Although I join the mass ranks of individuals who are eternally grateful for what was sacrificed during the Second World War to maintain our great nation’s liberty, my focus today is set solely on a much less significant mark in the history books.
In my opinion, the foundation for a real friendship is the ideology that you never give up, regardless of material circumstance. Of course, the beautiful thing about friendship is that there never has, and never will be, any written laws but given the chance there are certain shores that you naturally would never intentionally swim to...
So many waves to ride, such a small surfboard.
Recently I found myself laid flat, face down in the shallow, salty waters of regret as I failed to attend the celebration that had been planned for an old friend’s birthday. Granted, this was due to my own lack of sobriety at another friend’s gathering, which led to me spending my night with them instead. The next morning I promptly apologised for my no-show and offered to buy my old friend dinner. Never being the type to buy anyone dinner, I had made this offer simply for one purpose; to see my friend.
My offer was ignored and before long I realised that under the shallow waters, where I currently resided, lurked an ominous pit of quicksand. No, Craig, you’re not going anywhere just yet.
The entirety of the conversation I had with my ‘old friend’ is unimportant. What I will highlight was her apparent need to hurt my feelings. Perhaps she took pleasure in mocking personal battles that I have had to deal with over several years, or maybe her response was simply a product of the ‘tit for tat’ culture that seems to have engulfed at least part of her personality.
Either way I was greeted with a torrent of abuse, underlined by several strongly negative interjections.
Finally, with her white flag of surrender waving frantically, it was suggested that we would never be friends. The quick sand dissolved and there has been no contact since.
Art is the process or product of deliberately arranging elements in a way that appeals to the senses or emotions.
When it comes to words I am anything but tone deaf, so when I stumbled across the above definition of ‘Art’ a chord was struck that has since been playing its way around my thoughts.
You see, I can’t help but feel that an unfair, perhaps even distorted, picture has been painted here. In fact, if this was the work of Van Gough I believe his other ear would be subject to the bread knife any time now.
Has the person in question convinced themselves that I am just a bad person? Have they conveniently pieced a jigsaw together made of entirely misconstrued circumstance?
I am sincere enough to place on record how sorry I am for my mistakes, all of them, which have affected anyone.
You will be spared the speech of my sudden realisation as to who my real friends are. I’ve always known exactly who they are.
As far as my friendship with my ‘old friend’ goes; Gingerly, my door will always be ajar.
I guess I just haven’t mastered the art of giving up...
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