Out of work
he aimed low in life
– Roger McGough, ‘Missed’
Woke up full of cold and with depression still fogging up my mind. Sweaty, twisted night’s sleep, although pleasant dreams – they have been, recently, strangely. Mum and Dad on their way to NZ, me alone in the house I grew up in. Feeling like I’ve gone backwards, and stopped.
I looked up philosophy books on Amazon, not sure why, put a few on the wishlist. And so fell back into Leeds and I guess part of the person I was in Leeds.
I was a lot thinner, then. Well, a bit thinner.
I deactivated Facebook and I’m not looking at Twitter, I spend too much time passively staring at other people’s lives. So now I’m passively staring at mine, while I should be working on my project but fuck it fuck it, fuck it.
I wish I’d focused more on my BA. I wish I’d applied myself more to philosophy. Ping-ponging as I did from fascination with the course to boredom with the course, and picking up and leaving off flotsam in my mind. The person I was in Leeds devoured books on Kabbalah and Buckminster Fuller’s synergetics and pored endlessly over Erowid and broke apart bits of his head just to see what was inside. Or at least that’s what he did when he wasn’t hiding curled in a frightened ball in his room convinced his flatmates were whispering about it him, convinced he was breaking apart and breaking for good and ruined and useless and hollow. And just as convinced there was nothing really wrong.
Or sometimes he just got shags from Gaydar and hangovers from Poptastic and was just a regular guy, really. He even had a few boyfriends.
I wish I’d applied myself more in my BA but really what else could I have done, whirled around in a tornado of emotion and not even accepting I’d left the ground.
The guy I was in Leeds could sometimes see patterns just below the world and could feel a force immanent in the world. And now I pathologise that or at the very least biologise that but really y’know it’s no different from what millions of people believe and call religion.
I missed my Aristotle exam, no idea why either I was hungover or depressed or stressed it doesn’t matter, I got there the wrong day and had to resit. Spent my resit revision time reading Timothy Leary and getting high on nutmeg, neither of which I recommend. I still passed. It’s not hard to pass BA exams, it’s just hard to pass them well.
Me and Leah got hammered, my god we always got so hammered, on LGBSoc nights in Manchester, thrown out of the Mutz Nutz and then thrown out again, finishing up with Red Stripe in Hollywood, finishing up asleep on the train. Me and Leah got hammered like we always got hammered, mixing drinks at Queens Court and sneaking behind the bar and it was such a laugh, and we lost touch, and I wish we hadn’t.
I was never any good with money, and I was never very conscientious, and I’m still not and still aren’t, much though I’d like to be. And maybe I can pathologise that and maybe I can biologise that or maybe y’know I’m just a bit feckless.
All the gays knew all the moves to all the songs and I was lost but tried to play along, and I guess not much has changed.