My philosophy in life
Over the river. Agioi Anargyroi, Athens, January 2013.
I can’t quite remember who it was, but someone once said that those three terms are the most overused, but meaningless terms a person can use. TYISILY. The first two I can relate to; thank you and I’m sorry may as well be hello and goodbye to me. I use them so much they’ve lost meaning, I say thank you so much now that I’ll even just say it to get out of something, even if I really don’t appreciate what it is that I’m supposedly thanking someone for. “I’m sorry” is on a whole other level, I’m constantly apologising for shit that I don’t need to be apologising for, shit that is completely out of my control, shit that really, is of no concern to me. The third one has never really been relevant, I’ve never felt like that, but that still doesn’t stop my brain from constantly practically overheating with stress and worry over it. Over the fact that I’m scared that I’m incapable of it, or undeserving of it being span back around.
It’s happened before, and I’m sure it will happen again, and I shouldn’t really care, I don’t need to care. If the term ‘cut of your jib’ means anything to you you will understand the origins of said concern. If 102 means anything to you you will understand the current state of said concern.
What pisses me off most is that this ‘concern’ isn’t even real, it doesn’t exist. It’s a product of my silly little imagination. I do this all the time, think myself into stress. Unnecessary fucking stress. I can feel myself getting more and more philosophical and really, just becoming more and more of a depressing twat, every time it happens. I hate it because its not an accurate picture of me, it’s not me. I know that when this happens I need to get away, away from everyone who potentially has information that means they could work out why I’m upset. Because no-one can know I’m upset. Even more importantly know why I’m upset. One person can understand, but even tonight, I rang at a stupid time at night, and he came and picked me up from home, and we drove, and we chatted, and he knew something was wrong, and I was ready to spill it all out; unload fucking everything, but I just couldn’t. When he said “look man, what’s up?”, all I could say was “just…. stuff”. And he knew how it was. He understood. I know he knows that I know that he knows it’s all just 17 year old naivety, but right now it means a lot to me. I’m so grateful to have someone like this. More than just a relative, more than just a best mate. Kinda wish I’d told him everything though, would have been a weight off my shoulders.
Apparently this has a wider audience than I first imagined, so I have to be careful about what I say. So excuse how cryptic this all is. Not that it’s relevant to anyone who I know could read this. So it’s all good.
Fucking hell I’m so fucking sorry.
I’ve never used it as an excuse, and I’m not now, but today my stammer was horrible and I don’t really like to talk about it usually (if you’ll excuse the irony), I usually just live with it, usually its not that bad, but I couldn’t today. And it upset me. You’re welcome to not read this, I understand how uncomfortable it is.
So many times today I went to say something, and nothing. Just nothing. It’s not been this bad for a long time. Now I know it’s probably just a one-off thing, it’s happened before, but it felt different today. I’m terribly sorry if it makes you uncomfortable, I’m working on it.
I’ll get over it. People have it worse.
Correct me if I’m wrong but it all seems very fickle from the outside.