Colourblind

This is fear.

I did the math quickly, and I’m afraid to try harder to add up. However, the initial numbers are perhaps the scariest, given that I can bring them all to mind so easily.

About half of the girls I know have been raped, sexually assaulted, or in someway had a close escape from one or both of these. On three continents, and in a myriad of situations. I’m not going to name names, obviously; but some of these people are friends of mine, who I trust, and who trust me (trust me enough to tell me, anyway). How they can trust any man, given the various stories I hear, is more than I could bring myself to ever understand.

Through alcohol, through abuse of power, through violence, through emotional blackmail; all I hear from the world is a constant tale of abuse, of men harming and defiling women. To nullify the free will of another, you are making of them an object; you enslave them, you make them nothing. Why the hell is sex so important that anyone could think that they could do that? How the hell is ANYTHING so important?

Sex is barely important. It can be significant between people in a relationship, to show affection and closeness, but how does it have value above outside of this?

These girls I speak of have included lovers of the past. I regret most of my sexual partners, for one reason or another; my not being ready, their not being ready, it being for the wrong reasons, it leading to a state of awkwardness, or any number of other reasons; but in each and every case I was thoroughly aware of the connection I shared with this person, even if it was only for a night. They allowed me to be a part of them, and I allowed them to be a part of me. Take away the consent, and you are doing little but systematically torturing another human being whilst masturbating (and possibly developing further complications in terms of disease/pregnancy).

I’m just scared, you know? That this is the way things just…are.

Because if that’s how men are; I don’t want to be one, anymore. 

It’s been a little while. A lot has happened.

Graduation coming up, I’ve had to sort out a lot of things, recently; mainly what the fuck I plan to do with the rest of my life. I think I’ve decided.

I’ve decided on Cara.

When I’m around her, I can’t even understand what I was thinking all my life when I said I didn’t want to dedicate my entire life to someone. Every shred of fear, of doubt, of pride or blind arrogance is stripped away in her love. In terms of career, I’ve decided to look into teaching, properly. I enjoy teaching, and religious studies, in particular, could really be something I could enjoy for the rest of my life. There’s an excellent initial teacher training course at St. Martin’s college, in Lancaster, which brings me neatly to my next announcement that, as of relatively soon, that’s the place I’ll be calling home. Cara and I will be finding a flat, getting jobs if we can, and between her university and my training, live our lives there for a while, together. I love her, and I hate being apart from her. Even this 24 hours I have apart from her whilst she works and I do an essay drags and chafes. I’ve been in love before, twice, and they were very different from each other; but they were alike in that they were childish, selfish loves; loves that ended up with me hurting the women I loved very deeply and irrevocably. I’ve grown, I am the person I was meant to be.

And I that person wants her. I’m in, I love her.

I come originally from a town called Widnes, in Northern Cheshire, smack bang between Liverpool and Manchester. You probably won’t have heard of it unless you follow Rugby (we have a bad team), or international treaties concerning the targeting of intercontinental ballistic missles (there are two pointed at Widnes: one at the bridge between Widnes and Runcorn, and another at Fiddler’s Ferry power station). I try to disassociate from it. I’m not a scouser, by any means, but I live close enough, and feel attached to the place enough that I consider Liverpool my home city, if not my home town. Aintree, then, is my local racetrack really. So, once a year, when everyone has a flutter on the Grand National, where I come from it’s almost unheard of NOT to place a bet, regardless of your usual betting habits. Children have bets made in their name by their fathers, picking names out of the paper.

This year, I did something I’ve never done before: I made a bet with my own money. Those who know me best will know that of all my many vices, gambling is the one I have the least time for. But, The Grand National doesn’t count, as far as I’m concerened. It’s not a bet, it’s a tradition. An offering of money to the Goddess Lady Luck, to see the next year through well. So, I went to the bookies, and I put £5 each way, on a middle-of-the-spread horse. I handed over my £10, and buggered off, expecting to have no greater use for the betting slip than something to dramatically rip up when my horse stumbles, throws the rider and lands on him before being shot.

The Horse’s name, if you’re interested, was Silver Birch; and I took the bet at 33-1.

What I did not expect was that Silver Birch would actually win the Grand National.

my £10 original stake

+ 33 x £5 for the win

+ (33/4) x £5 for the each way (each way you take quarter odds).

comes to £216.25.

Evidently, I am still very much in my lady’s favour.

It’s all just a little bit of history repeating.

Of course, apparently, I’m not at liberty to discuss my own personal feelings on this thing. Apparently, I have no right to talk about what’s upsetting me, but I’m expected to listen. Eventually, I’m gonna run out of patience for the hypocrisy.

It’s 6:22. Not sure why I’m still up. Just didn’t sleep. Didn’t even do anything worthwhile with my time. A little dissertation, but that’s about it. I’ve been spending a lot of time in meditation, recently; attempting to sort various things in my head. Not emotionally, for once, almost entirely information. Lots of deep thought (42!) on my degree, and I’ve been studying a technique my dance teacher once taught me, in an attempt to learn my next pattern without needing to actually use space. Of course, I need to commit it to muscle memory, but that’s something else, entirely.

See, this is me talking without talking. Words without expression. A vacuous attempt at an art. 

Heh, as long as the room keeps singing, that’s just the business I’m in.

Well, here’s your reply. Yes, I do want some time apart. 

Had my third, count them, taekwondo grading, today.

I passed (somehow), making my running count 3rd kup. That’s seven grades in six months, along with the instructor qualification. Kinda pleased when I think in those kind of terms.

Definately room for improvement,but I’ve always considered that a good thing.

Also: When did I start reading comics? Between Aislin and my own recent buying of various editions of Serenity Rose and Daredevil (his power is…he can’t see shit.), I’m turning into a proper comic geek, it’s upsetting.

I just said ‘proper’…I blame Lesley, who it was very nice to see again.

Huspag!

You ever tried staying up, for like, as long as you can? Studies show that after a couple of days you start entering periods of ‘micro-sleep’. You remain concious, and even active, but docile, vacant, and keep no memories of what happens during the period (usually about 5-10 seconds).

The, eventually, you put your head down and bang, you’re out.

Feels like that’s pretty much what’s happened to me, except in my case the wakefulness has lasted 6 years.

Ever since…I had my episode, I’ve never really slept well. Insomnia comes and goes, and pretty much the only way to garauntee sleep was company (and even then, only sexually compatable company was garaunteed to give me a full night’s sleep). When I did sleep, it felt like micro-sleep, and I never really felt refreshed.

But now I’ve crashed, and I’m scared. I don’t like that I’ve changed all of a sudden. It’s also not helping my work that I can’t rouse myself for hours, as my body tries to adapt to this new system.

Perhaps I’m just bombing out of insomnia particularly hard. I don’t know.

It’s getting to me, though. Sorry if you don’t see me around so much, next few days.

I’m probably taking a nap. 

First of all, http://www.blod.com is actually a site, for blood-related links; paternity tests, umbilical blood storage, and the like.

My dispondency is back. It’s been away a while, but a few seperate events have brought it all out at once. Stress from work, stress from applying for my masters, financial problems, some personal issues regarding Helen, worrying about Cara, and so on.

I can go through them.

Work: I feel like I’m behind. I’ve done work on my dissertation, that’s not the problem; the problem is I don’t know the deadline offhand, and I’m almost afraid to look it up. I don’t know if it’s good enough, and there’s so much riding on it. Usually my arrogance would carry this through, but with everything else it’s hard to be arrogant, right now.

My master’s degree is almost the same thing. I don’t like the thought of applying then not getting it. I don’t know what I would do were that the case. Korea is always an option, I suppose, but I don’t like the thought of being so very, very far away from the people I love.

Financial worries…well, they hit all of us, eventually, right? I just don’t like the idea that my £900 rent has come out of my £70 bank account. Means more to clear up, and more creative accountancy, and I don’t need the hassle right this very second.

Helen issues are personal. Ask, and I’ll make a point of ignoring you from now on.

Cara issues are…complicated. Missing her is one thing, I do; but it hurts more knowing that she seems to miss me so much. I can’t stand the thought of her sad or upset. Doesn’t help that, whatever I like to think, I still have my moments of jealousy. Beng this far away makes it harder, I suppose. I trust her, completely, but I suppose I’m jealous of other guys even getting to see her, talk to her, smell her. I want that, you know?

There are other things, too. Like I’ve begun to feel like I just don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. I don’t know what I’ll do.

I don’t know what to do.

If I seem surly or short with you over the next couple of days, I’m sorry. I doubt I’ll really be out at all, anyway.

You know those dreams where you have, usually just as you’re falling asleep?

Like you put a foot down where you expect there to be floor, and there isn’t, and you reach out to grab something and jerk yourself awake (/punch your partner in the back)?

I don’t like that feeling when I’m awake, when something I held to be true for so long is snatched out from under me. It makes me rethink the entire foundations of my thoughts.

I feel sick, but not; like I want to curl up in a ball; but angry all at the same time.

That’s the best thing about love. What doesn’t scar becomes a sore spot. 

Sorry about the interval.

So, how was everybody’s holiday? (I like that word, it has such a cultural ambiguity to it.)

Mine was…multifaceted.

Things between Cara and I are good, better than I was figuring on things being when things first started out. It’s nice that a fling actually became something beautiful in and of itself. Of course, this has made things with Helen very interesting indeed. Give her one thing, though, it must take balls of sheer brass to say some of the things she has. Example, kicking up a fuss over a love bite on my neck, actually telling me to cover it up; then within an hour telling me about some guy she’d went home with some three days before. It just gets to me, that she can maintain such a horrible double standards. We’ve not spoken in a while. Our last conversation was heated, and followed immediately by me destroying my old phone (which may have been a mistake).

Spitting my dummy out has gained me little, and cost me lots of numbers I’m going to have trouble replacing. On the upside, I do like my new phone.

So, back to the toil of university (still yet to go to a lecture, and just found out today’s has been rescheduled to friday). I have tomorrow and thursday off, though; which is always handy. Mostly, I’ve been making sims have sex. Looking forward to Taekwondo, tomorrow, though. I’ve found that I actually missed my training, and that I really do enjoy it.

There’ve been some things on my mind, recently; but they’re not really up for discussion here. Quickly put, do you ever wonder about the could-have-beens, even when you’re blissfully happy?

Twelve is lucky, if only because it’s not quite 13.

Later.

Women suck.

Sorry, girls; I love you, you know that, but you all fucking suck.

That’s pretty much that.

In other news, this Christmas really began this morning when I was awoken by the sound of our vacuum cleaner, at seven in the morning. My mother’s annual polish-until-it-dies festival got well underway so now the house smells like orange oil wood polish and displaced dust.

No idea what to get anyone for christmas. May need to get Helen to drive me to Toys’R'them for Alex’, and Cara and I are going to Manchester on Friday night for most everyone else’s. Unfortunately, this includes Cara’s. What the FUCK do I get her? I mean, I’ve got an idea for Alex’, and I’m not close enough to Debbie to have to worry, and ironically, I know exactly what I’m getting for Helen; but I have no idea what to get Cara…

Shitfuck.

Any suggestions will be answered with gratitude, and possibly oral sex (from someone I convince/pay).