Faith and Muses

Just over two years ago I was standing at the bar with a pint of Guinness in my hand, caressing it.

Disbelief.

A pint of Guinness in one hand, an Embassy cigarette in the other.

It's Euphoric. England are playing Trinidad and Tobago. The refrain (Sorry, Bunny) was 'Are you Scotland in disguise?' and that doesn't bother me, I'll be honest. It's when they start singing 'No surrender to the IRA that my blood starts to boil.'

And I know very well it's only me thinking what I'm thinking, feeling what I'm feeling.

How damn lucky I am. How lucky everyone in that pub is. But I'm the only one who thinks it.
To everyone else, it's normal. Beer, pub, football, arms round eachother.

Not where I'd just been. And not in the work deprived villages of Moldova which feed the sex trafficking industry, nor in Darfur, or Iraq, or Afghanistan. Not if you're a Matebele, or most Native Americans, or let's be honest, most people.

Tony Blair said 'We are all Middle Class now'. Aye, the population of the west is the global bourgeoisie.

And my hand shook as I sipped the velvet gold.

Hope? Because when the cheering ended, I'd return to the same train of thought.

I think it was over the next few months that the worldview I have now received it's finishing touches. And yet, it hurt.

Hurt because I'd wasted most of my life, really. Never had a belief system I believed in, just ones I had adopted. And here I was at last, driven by a sense of faith, a desire to truly change the world, yet more impotent to do so than ever.

I felt, as I still feel, that everything that happened up till then had happened for a reason- that I needed to be forced through, that everything that happened to me, to open my eyes, to make me see what most people refuse to see. I felt that I had walked out to LIFE, and that everything before was a prelude. But a prelude to what?

Because on the other hand, it felt dead. Hopeless. What could I do now, really? I'd fucked it all up.

Even my own name was no use to me. Sure, it doesn't hinder me in day to day existence, but as I always say to people, it doesn't matter what I do, if I discovered the cure to cancer, The Sun headline would STILL read 'ex-con discovers cure to cancer.'

I was more determined than I had I had ever been that my life would serve a purpose, but more convinced than ever, that it never could.

Well.

In some ways, I'm surprised how easy I got back on my feet. Here I am now, good job, nice flat, it's all good. And on that front, certainly, no reason to believe it can't get better. Yes, I think the capitalist system WILL collapse in twenty years or so, but I see no harm in aiming to stick the word 'Director' in my job title while it lasts.

But the single, most positive- and negative- thing in my life has been Crushed.



Crushed is a burden. But then, so is life, much of the time. I'm not sure many of you realise just how TIRED I am, day in, day out. That alarm never seems to relent, the weekend never has enough hours, life flits be, leaving little time to stop and stare. Squeezing in the odd pint in is miracle enough.

Crushed came by accident. He was an unplanned birth- the logical consequence of me misunderstanding the procedure to register to leave comments at blogs. But then it grew. And the history of this blog has been- well- it's changed everything.

It was only slowly over time that I realised that here was something I WAS enjoying for it's own sake, here was something that genuinely gave me a sense of purpose and achievement.
Here was something I truly could build something out of. Here, I could write the book I always wanted to write, bit by bit, continuously receiving feedback on it. And as time progressed, I realised more. Crushed could do things I couldn't, by virtue of his anonymity. Crushed could be respected, Crushed was a new life.

Crushed was hope.

That bit has been lost, obviously. And don't get me wrong, it hurt. It was harder to get through then what happened 2004-2006, harder, by a long way. And much more painful.
And I don't for one moment think I'm out of the woods yet. I have no illusions this is to be an easy struggle. But I know what I want out of life. I've been through too much, for it have been a complete waste of time.

Life begins at thirty. In my case, yes, I think it does.

It happens, of course it does, that some days I really feel just TOO weary. I feel like there really just is no point. I can't say it ever gets to deliberately morbid levels, but a deep wish to go to sleep and NOT wake up has been a fairly regular feeling, certainly since Christmas.

Because sometimes I have this image of a red faced alcoholic in their fifties slurring at the barmaid 'I was 174th UK political blogger in 2007' and her smiling politely and saying 'Another double Jamesons?'
And I shake my head and say 'Surely not! Surely that wasn't it! THAT can't have been IT, surely?'

And some days, really I truly do lose faith.

But I shouldn't really, should I? I have a couple of muses who I should thank, I guess, for the amazing support they give. One of them said to me recently 'Sometimes it feels like you feel it's the cross you have to carry'. Yes, that is, I suppose how I see it. I will carry Crushed to my grave and I will still want to know what comments are left here while I remain compos mentis, I guess. And I really have no intention of Crushed dieing with me either.

The last few months have not been good, no two ways about it, and I suspect will mainly be concerned with holding firm and consolidating. I don't see how we can take any more knocks than we have, which potentially means things can only get better ( I hope so. There's a certain activity I've committed myself from abstaining from till certain targets are met).



But I'm thirty now, and I suspect I have another twenty years in me maybe. Plenty of time. One day that breakthrough will come, I just have to believe in it enough. Hard work, dedication and time must surely pay off. I really don't believe my critics are prepared to devote their lives to this the way I am. To the woman who's one woman hate campaign has caused me so much heartache, I say, do you want to carry on your campaign for life? Because I will go before this blog does. THAT's a promise.

One of my blogging friends says I worry too much about it. Maybe. Maybe I should work smarter not harder.

But really, I suppose I actually wanted to say a big thankyou to someone. They KNOW who they are, I think.

I've been very down these last few weeks- or would have been, if it hadn't been for you.

You kept the faith, when I was almost breaking. My extra special Muse.

You're the best :)