Sunday, 5 September 2010

Diary Entry Twenty-Six: Ill-Motivation Is Such A Chore

Hello stranger!

I won't lie to you; I've not really been busy, in fact I've had little to nothing to do. I've simply been bone idle and lazy. I'm not proud of it but what's done is done and I can't take that time back.

The trials and tribulations of the last few months are many, life has varied from day to day and karma has been biting at my ankles for over a month. The revelation that very few people read this blog, and most of those who do read it do so only to mock me, probably didn't help my self-esteem when it came to posting my musings for all the world to see. I got over it though, and now I'm back, driven as ever, ready to kick some bottoms.

I've got a lot of blogs coming, many that I didn't finish, but some of them are good.

People believe what they want to believe, the actions you take rest on your conscience only and you should never feel guilty for doing something you enjoy.

Alex

Sunday, 23 May 2010

Diary Entry Twenty-Five: Writer's Block

I write a blog; this blog, so I'm going to risk the assumption that whomever may be reading this has already worked out that I'm rather passionate about writing and it's something I'm not afraid to say I'm good at.

*****

Frank Sinatra's playing; godly. When I was seventeen it was, indeed, a very good year.

If you hadn't noticed by now I have writer's block. I know about what I want to write; paper, but I don't know quite how to approach the subject.

Do you remember my last blog? I sent the original draft along with a lucky 20p, a graffitied train ticket and a scoring from a chess match, not to mention some other bits, to Gwa. When he's not busy working he seems to get pretty lonely, and he has a pin-board so I figured I'd send him a few mementos to remind him we're all thinking of him.

Now I look at it I can see that writing in the Roman alphabet really isn't all that different to writing in morse code. If you consider the two main components of writing the way demonstrated here, straight lines and loopy bits, then squash that and change the orientation of it all we end up with dots and dashes, interesting.

I suppose we can consider this ramble to be my homage to writer's block. My question is why do we get writer's block even when we are inspired?

There are so many things I could write but I find myself only being motivated to write blogs. What's up with that?

The lady over the road was just looking at me sat at my desk. Strange curtain-twitching person, she is. This town is like that though, everyone is in everyone else's pockets, of course it's not crowded or anything negative like that, everyone just knows everyone's business. 
My brother once compared this town to Midsummer, I didn't sleep for a week after. I thought every noise was an apparently frail, helpless little old lady bound to crack open my head with a Le Creuset cast iron skillet then butcher me and feed my flesh to her cats. Yes, it is a rather vivid imagination I have isn't it?

Tuesday, 4 May 2010

Diary Entry Twenty-Four: Vote For People

On May 3rd 2010 Gordon Brown made a speech to Citizens UK. Right from the off I'd like to point out that I do not know who I am voting for on Thursday, nor am I - or have I ever been - a Labour supporter or fan of Mr. Brown. It has to be said, none-the-less, that there have been many great speeches in history: Martin Luther King Jr's "I have a dream"; Winston Churchill's "Greatest military defeat in history" speech after the evacuation of Dunkerque; and President Obama's Inaugral speech on Capital Hill to name but a few of my favourites. This, I feel, must be added to that list. The power and passion Brown thrust into his supporters during his speech was exquisite, compelling and truly awe-inspiring.

The inhabitant of No.10 compelled me to think about those I care most for, I feel that one must not purely vote for one's self but also for those who are important to one and without whom our own happiness is fickle. I want to take this opportunity to talk about two of these people. The first I've already spoken of in a blog and the second is yet to be known.

Gwa... My ginger friend and someone I care more about than myself - as with the others in this post -, if he needed me I'd be at his side in a flash. He comes from a working-class family, an artist in the role of mother and a chef as father, both exceptional people and two that Labour are most certainly out to gain votes from. Himself; he's an instructor, living away and doing what he loves the most. An intellectual but not an academic, an artist but not a sculptor of marble and granite, a philosopher but not insane and a wordsmith but not a poet. He works with his hands, his feet and his mind; one wrong move and tragedy. An inspiration in-the-making and a friend to everyone. He inspires my creativity and relieves my fears in life. He knows exactly how to calm me down and, by Newton's 3rd Law, how to drive me crazy. We make plans for rainy days and plans for sunny days. We improvise imaginary sword fights and we devise ways to cause mischief with no direct victims or consequences. Once upon a rainy Friday English lesson we thought of introducing a debating society to our school and what grew from that was nothing short of immense!

Without Gwa I wouldn't be who I am today.

Loz is the same but different, a year ahead of his time, he inspires me in different ways. From a modest but comfortable background with an adoring mother and a family who love him sprung an amazingly intelligent, intellectual gentleman with quiet tendencies not from shyness; but from a commendable prudence and a preference for listening. He knows when to be honest and when to keep it buttoned, when to laugh and when to empathise. The mind he possesses far surpasses my own and the joy this brings me to have a challenging conversation is insurmountable and cements why I could not live without him.
We set ourselves challenges, things like learning a new method of solving a Rubik's Cube; learning Morse Code and, most recently, gaining a thorough understanding of lift on a particle level. He and I have shared many deep conversations and once spent a few hours sat on garden furniture in the dark of night under a clear, starless sky in close to freezing temperatures.

The two of us have led lives as similar as two new pins.

It's as hard to believe I knew neither of these people two short years ago as it is to imagine life continuing without them. I find it hard to go more than a few days without talking to them so God-knows how I'm to cope when my future leaves us all as islands floating in an endless sea.

They both know things which could could destroy me and they both know silly little things like what song I want played at my funeral and what my wedding cake will look like. These things may seem trivial but a great man once said that it is the little things that count.

I believe certain souls are destined to meet;
I believe people come into our lives bringing something we must learn and that we must, in return, teach them;
I believe we cannot leave this world until we learn these truths.

There's one more person I'd like to introduce, Z. Come on, you didn't think I'd use her real name did you? The blatant anonymity I surround my friends with in my writings on here should have shown you that by now. I once pretentiously called her a chav. She isn't actually a chav, nor does she appear to be one. It happened when we first met. I've never called her it since, just for the record.

The reason I chose to write about her is; as with the other dramatis-personae mentioned here, she has changed me. Before I met her I was a cynic, I was bitter about the world and I acted complainingly about just about everything.
Her smile could make a boxer - just out of the ring - melt with joy. In the face of total adversity and every hardship she has remained happy. Her family adore her as do her peers. A teenage mother returning to school to finish her A-levels and a soon-to-be university student, she strolls through it all with a cheerful grin on her face and a merry skip in her step.
Her daughter is beautiful. I've only had the pleasure of meeting her once and she was surrounded by cooing, clegg-manic voting-age girls which; sadly, isn't a situation I'm able to truly be myself in. None-the-less I felt patriarchal at first sight. As with all her friends, I saw Z grow into a glowing mother-to-be and then I viewed her as a joyful mother with a child I'd been looking forward to meeting for months. We were all kept closely informed of everything during the pregnancy and; as such, I and a few of her other close male friends feel as much of a father to Little A as her real father does.

What Z showed me above all else was that with a smile on your face and a bit of charm nothing can get in your way. I keep a Christmas card signed 'Love from Z and Bump x' as  the bookmark in the book I'm reading at the time to always remind me to be joyful and thankful.

It's hard to have anything but respect for Z.

These people are who I'm voting for, they mean the world to me and I could not go a day without thinking of them. I love them all dearly and they are a big part of why I will succeed in life.

"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few or the one."
-- Spock

Alex

Wednesday, 28 April 2010

Diary Entry Twenty-Three: Train Journeys

Being a terrible poster; I often lose concentration when I'm writing. This is true of two train journeys I recently took. I have also been learning morse code which is why there is a section at the bottom of this blog which consists of dots and dashes. It's only the following paragraph so if you don't understand it don't worry.

Cheers,
Alex

*****
April 11th 2010
Trains, Trains Go Away

Perhaps it's the rush back to work after the Easter break, or maybe it's the weather. Either way it doesn't make sense that a nine-carriage Virgin Pendolino train be completely full on a Sunday afternoon. Maybe it's the Glaswegian water that's attracted everybody travelling through London to board this train, whatever 'it' is, it's amiss.

The en-mass migration to Scotland certainly explains why the ticket issuer was unable to book me a seat on this train. It's not all bad I suppose, it's only five hours of my life and I am looking forward to seeing my father; even if that sucks I do have a table-window seat booked for my return.

The first leg of my journey was a bitch too; a train full of already tipsy football fans heading to Wembly Stadium, throwing around a team coloured balloon and yelling political slogans. When I was walking to the train at the beginning of the day the massive crowd; standing on the platform, yelled at the same time, this benefits-stealing choir  actually made a wonderfully tuneful wall of sound that was so testosterone filled I could sense a dog's testicles growing across the river and I'm fairly certain several foetuses actually changed sex.

*****
April 18th 2010
Another Train Journey

So, a week after I wrote the last blog I'm writing this. I promised a friend I'd upload it translated into Morse Code but it becomes tiring after the first fifty words and I sadly failed to complete my task. None-the-less I am here, bravely attempting the wholly-possible once again. No half measures, no minced words, just lovely dots and dashes representing our language.

A week in Glasgow, a week with my father. It was actually the most time I've spent with him since he moved there. Before this trip it was September, three days which became six when I caught swine flu; prefacing that was January '09 at my grandparents' 50th wedding anniversary, for which I got a beautiful, new suit. Before that I hadn't seen him since July 2006, shocking I know!

*****

As I said before, I fail at writing. I got distracted both times and when that happens I find it very hard to get back into the flow. Anyway, here's the morse I mentioned.

.-  -..-  .-.  ..  .-..     .----  .----  -  ....     ..---  -----  .----  -----
-  .-.  .-  ..  -.  ...  --..--     -  .-.  .-  -.  ...     --.  ---     .-  .--  .-  -.--

.--.  .  .-.  ....  .-  .--.  ...    ..  -  .---.  ...     -  ....  .     .-.  ..-  ...  ....     -...  .-  -.-.  -.-     -  ---     .--  ---  .-.  -.-     .-  ..-.  -  .  .-.     -  ....  .     .  .-  ...   -   .   .-.     -...  .-.  .  .-  -.-  --..--     ---  .-.     ---  .-  -.--  -...  .     ..  -  .----.  ...     -  ....  .     .--  .  .-  -  ....  .  .-.  .-.-.-     .  ..  -  ....  .  .-.     .--  .-  -.--     ..  -     -..  ---  .  ...  -.  .----.  -     --  .-  -.-  .     ...  .  -.  ...  .     -  ....  .-  -     .-     ----.     -.-.  .-  .-.  .-.  ..  .-  --.  .     ...-  ..  .-.  --.  ..  -.     .--.  .  -.  -..  ---   .-..  ..  -.  ---     -  .-.  .-  ..  -.     -...  .     -.-.  ---   --  .--.   .-..  .  -  .  .-..  -.--     ..-.  ..-  .-..  .-..   ---  -.     .     ...  ..-  -.  -..  .-  -.--     .-  ..-.  -  .  .-.  -.  ---  ---  -.  .-.-.-     --  .-  -.--  -...  .     ..  -  .----.  ...     -  ....  .     --.  .-..  .-  ...  .--  .  --.  ..  .-  -.     .--  .-  -  .  .-.     -  ....  .-  -  .----.  ...     .-  -  -  .-.  .-  -.-.  -  .  -..     .  ...-  .  .-.  -.--  -...  ---  -..  -.--     -  .-.  .-  ...-  .  .-..  .-..  ..  -.  --.     -  .-.  ---  ..-  --.  ....     .-..  ---  -.  -..  ---  -.     -  ---     -...  ---  .-  .-.  -..     -  ....  ..  ...     -  .-.  .-  -.  --..--     .--  ....  .-  -  .  ...-  .  .-.     .-..-.  ..  -  .-..-.     ..  ...  --..--     ..  -  .----.  ...     .-  --  ..  ...  .-.-.-

Thursday, 8 April 2010

Diary Entry Twenty-Two: Sea, My surf and I.

Ten ships float gently alongside the island as the tide calmly leaves the shore; some are passing us by, destined for far-off ports; some are here to rest but most are waiting for work with their crews bored and their cargo decks serving only as vast empty spaces used for dark, dank, make-shift running tracks and football pitches until the next order comes. Dwarfed alongside them sit yachts, bobbing up and down with the flow of the ocean as it laps at their sides.

Those ten ships become nine as the tenth disappears behind the mammoth cliff which dominates the skyline a click to my north-east. Towering above the ocean, for me, it represents the edge of my blinkered view, reminding me of my own limits. One cannot see what is hidden from one's eyes, adventure waits beyond the horizon.

The ships become ten once more as another emerges from the horizontal haze which marks the edge of my known space, a car ferry by the looks of its shape and bright-white colouring.

My destiny; like the tide's, lays far beyond what I can see. A vast and endless current of oceans command not only the entire world but my life especially. As I look towards what I cannot see I get a feeling of isolation, but also (and more importantly) hope and how my own minute existence may one day change what people see from this very spot.

The beach is empty now, the sun has taken shelter behind the massive cliffs above me and the heat left imprisoned in the sand isn't enough to keep the tourists here. I will mount my bicycle now and ride home with a thought on my mind:

If people leave when the sun goes down how will anyone appreciate the eerie silence of the ocean? If my own sunshine fails to glow will people forget about the beauty of my simplicity, too?

The simple things are what make us feel alive, without them we have no hope of surviving in true happiness.

Tuesday, 6 April 2010

Diary Entry Twenty-One: My Town

I wish I could see the sunset from my home.

"Today is the first day of summer, not scientifically but the sun was shining and the tourists are here. Furthermore; the tourists are in my town, which means they're bored.

Or lost."

That isn't to say my town isn't lovely, my little spot on the island is among the most beautiful if you know where to look. Sadly my dinky town; with its centuries of history and its spirited people, is in crisis: large planned development and the loss of one of our main tourist attractions has rendered us helpless. A recent Town Council meeting apparently shed no new light on what is to happen to the grade II listed building which housed the aforementioned failed business.

Four pubs; a statue of a bull; two bus stops; two national heritage sites; a church and a chappel; a Post Office; a general shop; an electronic goods store; a train station; a doctor's surgery; three post boxes, football and cricket clubs; tea rooms; a model train shop; a hair salon; reading rooms; our own day, and some of the most darling houses you will ever see make up this town which is 13 times less dense than New York and is too often mistaken for a village.

The worst opinion of this town I've ever heard to date is the description that it is little more than a place you pass through to get to one of the surrounding, larger towns.
This view not only ignores our very existance but also belittles us and forgets our wonderful home. I've not had the pleasure of meeting most of our residents but from what I have experienced I know we are a hardy group who all love our little corner of heaven very much and many, it seems, would fight for its survival.

To counter the statement at the beginning of this well-meaning ramble: this town is stuffed full of wonderful people, places, activities, sights and history. Any person will find a million things to love about this place; tourist or resident alike, and those not visiting are the ones who are truly lost.

As I approach the two year anniversary of my living here I must say I have never felt so at home in any of my numerous former residencies. There's something about this place that makes me never want to leave. Thankyou, Brading, for being so perfect.

Oh and I may not see the sunset from my home but I can show you a dozen places where it can be seen at its most beautiful, all in my little town.

Saturday, 27 March 2010

Diary Entry Twenty: The End?

It's the end of an era, it's official. One of my best friends - if not THE best friend - I've ever had leaves to begin his life proper in a week or so. As I contemplate this I wonder what the next step is for us all: some of us are off to university; some are getting jobs; myself, I'm in limbo until the Royal Navy decide whether or not I'm good enough to live my dreams.

My ginger-friend; Gwa, the one who is leaving imminantly, we've had some amazing times the past twenty months, highs and lows, points where we doubted our own friendship and the greatest times when we pulled ourselves out of the rutts; there's a reason people always compare us to an old married couple.
Whether it was chess, politics or something less significant, Gwa and I have always found something to argue about. Within six weeks this love of arguments had led us to instate our school's first Debating Society, a passing comment in a rainy english lesson on a friday afternoon quickly became something which would cement our friendship and ultimately identify us as a pair joined at the brain. From debate came chess, lots and lots of chess, learning Gwa was as useless without his bishops as I was without my knights made for much hilarity above the board. As our game developed as did our friendship, next came Youth Speaks, learning our speeches just hours before our performance... we had a good few laughs.

Every day with Gwa is an adventure, in just nine months we went from strangers passing in a hallway to the best of friends. Obviously I cannot vouch for any impact I've left on his life but I can tell you now, with no word of a lie, that without this guy's trust and support I'd never have made it to being the person I am today. He was there in February 2009 when a new girlfriend revolutionised the way I saw and lived my life and left me no choice but to grow up. Later, he was there on the evening of September 2nd when I showed my face for the first time after losing her, he was there throughout my times of sadness and afterwards when my own miserable self-pity hindered everything about me.

The hardest part of our friendship was whn he gave up his A Levels and left school. I have never been so broken as I was when I found out. He later explained that he didn't tell me because he knew how affected I would be by it. I realised soon after that I was wrong in the weeks leading up to his leaving; I pressured him to stay on and finish his A levels without considering how it would make him feel. Gwa's destiny wasn't to be found down the path of formal education, he knew what he had to do and I was trying to stop him. I felt terrible when I realised what I'd done.

We recovered, our friendship stronger than ever before with a new-found understanding of one-another. Settling down at school without my companion was a challenge I nearly failed completely, I hung on for dear life and now I know I'll make it.
Alas I still have this feeling in the back of my mind, a constant nagging saying "he'll be gone soon" with the Peter Pan crocodile alarm-clock ticking away, counting down the seconds and pacing back and forth in my head. In a week Gwa, the man with whom I've spent the past two years of my life, will be gone, away for prolonged periods of time. I always knew the day would come; I've been trying to stop time doing so since July but it has inevitably arrived and; once again, I'm the last to go, still spinning in the juvinile world of Sixth-Form when everyone else of my generation has moved on.

Words cannot describe how scared I am. I know how scared Gwa is, too. But I've got to roll with it. He'll be back to visit soon and I've still got a bunch of amazing friends around me.

I'm sat here staring at the notation I took from the most epic chess match he and I ever had...

Here's to many more... There will be.

To answer the question in the title: HELL NO this is not the end! Like I said, every day with Gwa is a new adventure, this is the biggest one yet. Bring it on!

Best of luck buddy, I'll be with you wherever your dreams take you. Do it for the good times, the great times and the times we've yet to have.

“Don't be dismayed at goodbyes, a farewell is necessary before you can meet again and meeting again, after moments or lifetimes, is certain for those who are friends.” -- Richard Bach


Alex

Thursday, 11 March 2010

Diary Entry Nineteen: Inconsideration

It amazes me how people can manage to be so inconsiderate. Someone who is far over-worked and under-paid works his hind quarters off to make sure something YOU want is as good as it can possibly be and you never think to give something back? You never think maybe he doesn't want to do all this crap for you but does it anyway because he wants your performance to be as perfect as you see it in your head?

You know, I understand my generation is full of unappreciative people who couldn't give a crap about whose feelings they hurt or who they step over because all that matters is getting to the top of their own little world, but sometimes you need to take a step back and realise that someone is really working hard for you to succeed in that megalomanic world you inhabit inside your one-track mind. That person hasn't slept properly for over a month to make sure your videos are finished on time and your lighting is just right. Not once have you ever thought maybe it'd be nice to help him or even have a friendly conversation with him, what you forget is that he's not there to work for you, he's there to help your work work.

The technical side of theatre is a lot more interesting than the side of it you see. Without understanding what goes on in that little room in the corner you've no idea. What is a GMX or a CAT-5? How you connect a dimmer pack to a lighting desk? What button do you push twice so the flash buttons make all the other lights go off except the one you're toggling? Know the answers to all these questions? No, I didn't think so. If you knew the answers to even one of those you'd know what you're dealing with is an expert and someone you should respect.

A while ago I found myself being deeply interested in the technical side of theatre. When I delved further into it I found a somewhat natural ability to work in this situation. I love it, back-stage is so much more interesting than front of house. The noises; the lights; the feel of a slider's resistance beneath my finger, it's mesmerising. Since working with the aforementioned under-appreciated person I've found nothing but respect for him, he works long hours and much of his free time is taken up by the wants of those who don't understand what he does. I like to think I'm more of a help to him than a hindrance but sometimes I wonder.

 Not only does this work interest me greatly but I like to think I'm giving something back by helping out in the department. Awkwardly my own project is one of the most complicated and probably the one he could most use my assistance in conducting but such is life, all I can do is help make it as simple as complex can be made; paradoxical so it may seem.

One man doing 2 men's jobs. Hopefully my contribution helps in some small way.

Tuesday, 23 February 2010

Diary Entry Eighteen: Bad karma and Babies

Oh my was today a rough day as far as karma goes. I managed to get soaked on my way to school because the river near where I live burst its banks and I had to wade up a road through it. At the end of the day; just before I left to go home, I slipped on mud and caked most of my trousers and a bit of my shirt as-well as my arm and hand. Joy. To add insult to injury I spent most of the day getting my thumb (which I cut open when sawing wood on Friday) caught on just about everything. There were other things to do with drills and being cold too but they're mundane.
I was worst affected by getting wet, the first day in over a month I wear shoes which aren't walking boots my feet get wet. Those around me will tell you the one thing I really, really can't stand is having wet feet. I hate it. But it could always be worst.

One of my friends had a baby on the 31st January, today she bought her daughter into school to see us and oh my days, she is so, so cute. I really don't like kids much and I was getting broody. Insane. It was nice to meet her, she seems to have a personality all of her own already and I'm certainly proud of my friend for producing such a perfect little person. It's going to be fun watching a friend's child grow up, I've no doubt she'll be as clever and amazing as her mum. I will be known as 'Uncle Alex' if it's the last thing I do. Congrats again Z.

I'm going to go ahead and do some work now. I might design some lighting too.

Alex

Monday, 22 February 2010

Diary Entry Seventeen: The Day of Reckoning Is Not Yet Nigh!

The faeces did not hit the rotary cooling system as I expected it to. Joyous I know, but it's not all good.

My day started terribly, I awoke without problem, my morning rituals continued to be their mundanely successful selves and I left the house in good time. I got about half way to school before losing the back tyre of my bicycle on a layer of wet leaves, there was a lot of pain and I banged my head, luckily I am intelligent enough to wear a helmet but I'm sure it's now impacted. I pushed my bike home and got changed, cleaned the dirt off myself and walked to school. By the time I got there I'd missed my first lesson and most of my second. That, more than anything else, angered me. Today was my fresh start and I blew it because I wasn't paying attention to what was on the road below me.
A couple of hours in the drama department made my day improve greatly. 

My step-dad was meant to be seeing my head of year today, try to sort out these problems I'm having with my education. He doesn't know half of how terrible this year has been so far and I wasn't looking forward to him finding out either. My head of year was in a meeting when my step-dad was free so they appointed to see one another on Thursday. That's very bad for me. My mum comes home on Wednesday for a few days. I've no doubt she will be there too. People who know me will tell you I'm scared of very little but my mother, she is not a force to be reckoned with. I can safely say I am scared. Very scared. I'll try not to lose sleep on it.

See you in the next one.

Alex

Sunday, 21 February 2010

Diary Entry Sixteen: Remembering The Past

You know when someone you used to know well pops back into your life? No? Well it happened earlier today. There I was organising my accounts when all of a sudden this person comes into my mind. So off I trot on a search to see if I can't track her down. Within seconds I've found her and within an hour our pages are connected. I haven't yet spoken to her but it got me to wondering whatever did happen to all the connections I once had.

I've led a very varied life for one so young, being a forces brat I've never really had the same sense of keeping connections as the majority of people. I suppose many would look at it as rude but I find it dreadfully difficult to keep up with people I no longer see on a regular basis. My friends in Cyprus; for instance, from most of whom I've not heard since my leaving are probably all in the same boat. In that lifestyle one must learn to forge very strong relationships very quickly - and that we did - but one also had to learn to get over those relationships very quickly when they were no longer in front of one's face. I understand it's a confusing concept but once one has lived it one gains a much better understanding of it.

Of course it goes without saying that I have many friends from my past with whom I shall never lose contact: H, A, F, R, G, of course the list continues to a great length but living in the present means that the friends I have surrounding me must be in the fore-front of my mind. I love everyone I've ever known very dearly and none will ever become victim to my ever-forgetting mind.

In lieu of being anywhere near the person I was speaking of before my transcendence into spiel I will have to hope our old relationship may be rebuilt in the cyber world. I can't wait to talk with her again; it has been far too long, she looks like life is treating her well.

That's it for today, friends, tomorrow the proverbial faecal matter is destined to hit the rotary cooling mechanism. Best of luck to you all should my ultimate demise be caused by the distress of my Loco Parenti.

Alex

Saturday, 20 February 2010

Diary Entry Fifteen: Time for Change.

I'm back and I missed you!

So a lot's happened since my last post. I mean I was really down at the time. My life's been pretty aimless since September and nothing has worked for me. I was in a vicious circle of misery which stopped me functioning in just about every way. It's not getting any better either, but it could certainly be worse.

The want to be a normal teenager and have a good time pushed me into a life which in no-way suited who I am as a person. I was incredibly stupid and let that lifestyle pull me too far away from where I should have been; it nearly cost me my education. Now I must pay for it by keeping my nose to the grindstone and pushing my way through the next ten weeks before I may once again relax. It's crunch time and I need a B and a C to get me where I want to be. 

Anyway, whilst wallowing in self-pity for the past five months I've learned a lot about myself, most important of which being that my application to university for Speech & Language Therapy was totally pointless as I don't have enough interest in the subject to make it my life's vocation. Upon this realisation I umm'd and ahh'dfor several weeks about what it was I should do. Then I remembered the wayward dream I've always dreamed, the calling I never indulged, the song to which I've never sung along. 

My life has reason again and I'm ready for it. I'm going to get this world in the ring and kick it's ass. I'm going to give 100% until I'm the best. Because my name is Alex ******* and nothing is going to stand in my way.

See you on the next one.

Alex.