Monday Night Reflection: Not Famous

I have tried to avoid deep introspection and life reassessment, it’s a bit cheesy, but I have been very low, and having discovered that on top of my existing medical journey I picked up a kidney infection (probably in my duplex kidney) I did manage to hit a very low and rather depressed point.

Thing is, I started noticing something, part of what had driven me to change my profession was that people in that field were asking what I had done. When I started it was all about technical ability, proficiency, results and knowledge, and now it is all about how famous you are and how famous the people you work with are. It is a fame game. More and more, I was thinking about contributing and the barrier to entry was how famous are you or how famous are the people you know.

It was last night, sat with my wife and stepson watching Disney Cars, my wife had not seen it and I am excited to see Disney Cars 3 in June, so we sat and were watching it together, he joined us and we had a really great evening and even grabbed a small takeaway tea for ease. It was a great end to what was a really enjoyable weekend. It was getting ready for bed that I had the light bulb moment, because like I do, and many of us do, I had a quick scroll through Instagram and I follow a few “successful” people, and they had worked. They seemed super happy that they had found time to be “productive”.

No knock on them, but that would not have made me happy, the thought of what they had done made me sad. My weekend I had sorted the exhaust on my car with a friend, trained, spoke with a couple of friends, one was a bit overdue and was really nice to catch up too, and watched a lot of MotoGP, spruced up the house as we have been doing for years and probably will be doing for years, and connected friendships. Most of my time was simply,  being, productivity and metrics were the furthest things from my mind, in fact, I remember my son and wife looking at me somewhat aghast as my phone vibrated through the film and I didn’t even flip it over despite having seen the film many times before. Why, I was enjoying the moment of being with them, nothing I do is that critical it can’t wait an hour or two despite what some people thing. And it is Sunday, and it’s a day none of us has to work so I make sure I keep it free to have with those I love.

I don’t want to be famous, and I don’t want that success. Travelling to do this and do that and the lifestyles that the successful have in what I am good at are just not for me. I guess I am good at the wrong things. You can take your adoring crowds, that’s cool, I will wake up to the eyes of the woman who loves me win or lose, succeed or fail, the woman who picked up and held my hand when I couldn’t move it myself, the woman who has seen me at rock bottom, and who chose to sit down next to me and just wait till I was ready.

It is not that I don’t want success, it’s that I won’t drop mine chasing someone else’s dream.

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Dear Diary 14th April 2017

I have nothing to say

My voice has gone literally and metaphorically

I am scared to sleep tonight

Scared to say I had a small attack

My mouth is numb and my head is throbbing

I know the signs now, even when they are mild

Staying awake doesn’t change a thing

Sleeping gets it over with

But still I am scared

What if this time is the time I don’t make it back?

Dear Diary 10th Apr 17

It is night time again

I should sleep, I don’t want to, little scared to if I am honest

Once upon a time I got inspired, sometimes I got depressed, now I just am.

Not empty, not full, not down, no up, just here.

No words, no thoughts, nothing springs to mind.

Surrounded by mess and dirty cars.

Bank account empty and my business needs to be started again.

My body isn’t back to normal and I don’t sound like me.

I smartened myself up but its not me I see.

Just here, phone is on the fritz and I should be asleep.

I’ll read something irrelevant but that doesn’t work.

Grammarly can sod off too, I am not confused.

 

Poetry Corner: Beyond Repair

I grew up told I was broken, beyond repair

A bad person who did bad things,

No one said what they were,

They were so unspeakable I never knew their name

 

I tried to run, and hide in the bottle and the pill

Saved by a girl, no angel, she had not fallen

Simple words, simple acts, simple faith

No lies, she simply pointed a different way

 

One person believed before me and I walked anyway

The bottle and the pill I kept by my side

Old friends, my travelling companions, faithful amigos

The journey started, walked in alone

 

The broken boy was doing good, shining so bright

The broken boy never believed, and the girl was gone

No one to say well done, to whisper carry on

And the bills to be paid, faithful friends that cared

 

The boy found a man looking back, he was bang on track

All that life called success and his vision only black

The angel of that wedding day was not from heaven sent

On his destruction she was hell bent

 

He was broken, the familiar sound of unspeakable acts

The guilt for something he must have done

Back at home where he had always been

That bad person who did bad things

 

No one said well done, no one whispered carry on

Except strangers in the wilderness looking from afar

They saw, what that girl had seen

They saw everything that broken boy should have been

 

And the demons cast him into the fires of rage

Destroyed and laid waste to all he was and did

And he broke, just for a moment, and he hid

In the wilderness he was tempted, the whisper: carry on

 

The boy looked up, from the bottom his gaze was cast

The darkess welcomed him with open arms,

His amigos waited to greet their old friend,

Into the wasteland so desperate to walk and die

 

And through his bloodshot eye and battered brow

He made one solemn vow right here and now

Not today my old friends, not today

Not the wilderness nor sweet abyss will I walk

 

The broken boy, laid down the guilt of his shattered past

Found no bad things and the suitcase of his regrets

No hero bound, nor glory found, redemption will have to wait

For the boy, broken and unbound in his future will be found

Dear Diary: 9th March 2017

Threw away the food I didn’t eat; that counts?

Did a to-do list I will probably never do; that’s progress?

Made Stovetop coffee; that’s counts as self care?

Fell Asleep on my keyboard again; proof of work?

My head is full of other people’s words and I cried through Logan more than Schindler’s List.

My limp is back too.

Poetry Corner: The Captain and Jack

Poetry Corner: The Captain and Jack

The Captain and Jack are gone

Cheaper, rougher whores are what it takes

The mixer shrinks and the ice it melts

The fog no longer dims the lights

 

The empty bottles of my dynasty,

Recycled like my stories of glory days

The bitter taste of regret

Diluted with bourbon or rum till I forget

 

My hand it shakes, my gait unsteady

No longer call it pain, useless cliché

Existence once called life

Time and tide fading away

 

Another day, and breath I steal

Each one I take I cannot return

No redemption for wages earned

Sleep no friend or welcome rest

 

 

Dear Diary: 2nd March 2017

Wednesday feels like last week to be honest. I really hurt last night and today.

Nothing done at all, okay I did eat some chocolate, that counts as success right?

Honestly I don’t have enough morphine left for this and the doctor turned into an arse … weed isn’t cutting it this time, it was working so well, same batch too.

2 weeks ago we had a car each both running fine and now both are going to scrap – not the time for this shit.