Every morning I join the throngs of commuters on their way to our nations capital and I can’t help but feel that I don’t belong. This thought is reflected in their attitudes towards me, the way their noses raise up and the little smirk appears on their face that says to me ‘you don’t belong here’. I’ve come to realise that the reason I don’t belong there is because I’m happy, and because I’m the one with the plan.

There’s nothing worse than looking around a morning train to London and just seeing the bloated entrails of what’s left of these people. They’ve got so comfortable in what they’re doing that it requires very little effort to think the whole thing through. They might have ‘made it’ in their eyes (meaning they live quite comfortably) but that doesn’t really seem to equal a whole lot of happiness for them. Once you’re trapped into the system or the ‘rat race’ proper I imagine it’s very hard to break out of it, you get used to the burn, and eventually you are nothing but a smouldering pile of ashes inside a filled to capacity shell. I’ve made a promise to myself to never get like that, to never accept anything, because it’s all changeable, there’s nothing certain about what we do every day and I take joy in that. I’m still aware. That’s what I believe makes them snub me, it’s because they can still see my cogs turning and the dreams in my eyes as I return their gaze and smile to myself.

So at the weekend I reached the 90,000 work mark on my novel, a piece of work I started in June of last year and it looks like I’m actually going to do it, I’m going to finish.

From the off I have said I want to write a hundred thousand words and although I can tell by the way things are currently running that I’m definitely going to go beyond that there is a quiet relief in the fact that I know I can do it. My brother recently commented that he doesn’t even know that many words (and yes I had to explain that there aren’t 90,000 individual words in it, that a lot are repeated).

The issue now is that for it to go anywhere I need to get it out to people, people beyond my close friends and family are going to have to read what is essentially a work of non fiction, a little bit of my life that I’m putting out on display and that’s where the fear really lies. I still don’t feel like my shell is hard enough to repel any negative press. On the surface I think ‘Fuck them, they just don’t get it’ but I know deep down its going to suck to be given any criticism of my work. That’s the real worry. It isn’t finishing it, because I’m quite excited about that as an idea, it’s the fact that it will leave my work and therefore me open to the world. It should really follow that the majority of people will find it intriguing because it is, it’s a funny story, there’s nothing not to like (other than some of the characters) so that’s what I’m focusing on, it’s an enjoyable experience reading it so anybody who thinks differently doesn’t really concern me, I don’t surround people who aren’t on the same page as me, so why would I care if those people don’t get it, they’re no supposed to.

Peace.

Hi guys, just come in, yep, close the door. Alright Justin, put the Grammy down I get it.
Now I’ve gathered you here today to apologise for not believing that you could follow For Emma, Forever Ago up with a second brilliant album. I guess in a way I didn’t even want to believe it and that’s why it took me so long to get into Bon Iver; Bon Iver – brilliant title by the way lads.
I realise now that not everybody has to have a disappointing follow up just because that’s what the system seems to promote. So from the deepest of my heart I apologise and would like to tell you that Towers is one of the best things I’ve ever hurt.

Thanks for coming in, I’ll see you soon boys. Oh, if Fleet Foxes are out there could you send them in please.

Morning,

Those of you who know me will be well aware of my much publicised slumps, these are the moments (or lumped days) in which everything gets a bit too much for me, I can’t see the light, I just spiral in on myself and get depressed.

I’ve struggled with bouts of depression since I was about eleven and luckily (for you) I don’t have time to go into it now but they’re becoming a lot more sporadic, I can now see their symptoms and take some time to myself, just to touch base and ensure I’m safe. Unfortunately for those around me it means being ignored or trying to help and being barked at. I’m lucky to have such good people in my orbit because I don’t think I would come out the other side for anything but happiness.

Last night I went for a run, it was the first thing I got to do for myself in a number of days, and I pushed harder than before and cut my time down. I’m new to running you see and have mapped a mile and a half that I try to circuit a couple of times a week and each time I listen to Given To The Wild and last night reached the finish line as Glimmer started. I don’t know how long that is, I know it’s track five, but I don’t really want to calculate it because I’m sure it’s not particularly quick. Anyway I was out running and I managed to just shake off a lot of the blue I’d been shouldering.

So I’m back, back from the slumps, and I’m pushing myself harder than ever from now on.

I get the appeal of Justin Bieber, he’s a good looking puppy with the clean cut face of a Walt Disney wet dream. What I don’t understand is why his fans feel it necessary to go on about it. I have two tattoos and an iron deficiency but I probably won’t bring either up unless provoked. My gripe stems from my Twitter feed. Twitter is a fantastic tool for sharing news, music, videos, whatever but lately it has become overrun with teeny boppers (yes, that phrase makes me feel old) harping on about their latest boy wonder. I guess I’m angry at the soapbox they’ve been given more than what it is they’re going on about.

When I first joined Twitter the trending topics tended to relate to news of that day and maybe some celebrity gossip so it really grinds my gears to go on there and see the whole system abandoned for fangirl nonsense. I guess I have the wonderful gift of hindsight, I remember when Take That broke up and when Stephen Gately came out and I know that it is all part of a cycle. I’m hoping that in time Bieber will fantastically fall of the wagon and we can all just get on with our lives.

I wish there was a way to just filter out the stuff that has no interest to me at all, maybe a way of putting in keywords and never having to see them on my feed. Alternatively I could just stop procrastinating and get off Twitter, therefore eliminating exactly what it is that makes me angry. Then again maybe it’s because a ‘belieber’ told me to fuck off this morning.

For the longest time I struggled with having faith in other people, they’re so tricky as a general rule. I’ve always felt like I’m just a voyeur to whatever group I am stood trying to integrate myself into. What I’ve learnt is that I’m not supposed to be a part of a group, I dip in and out with the majority of people I know but I’m very much still a creature in my own right.

What upsets me, and raises up all this old trauma that I’d been dealing with so well is when someone that I consider to be a friend quite purposely blanks me. I wasn’t looking to take him out for a steak dinner or anything, was literally just going to say ‘oh hi, good morning, you alright?’ and walk away. That would have been enough for me but instead when we almost made eye contact he pulled his collar up and put his head down.

Thanks a lot mate, I’ll be over here trying to do something with my life if you need me.

A friend recently sent me a Bob Dylan quote and I can’t shake it. It goes “What’s money? A man is a success if he gets up in the morning and goes to bed at night, and in between does what he wants to do.”

It’s beautiful right? Well yeah it is but it’s irking me, I can’t shake it.
The problem I face is that I can’t be a success in my current job and I can’t apply for the job I want to be a success in.
All I can do is hope against all hope that somebody sees what I see in my novel and that that someone happens to front a major publishing house.
I fully appreciate what I do as a writer, and I am a success within the confines of myself but it’s hard to keep that thought running when you spend five days a week trussed up in a cubicle dungeon. I don’t want to ever be one of those people who settles into something, I always want to push it, push it real good.

Peace.