Have you got a ritual you like to follow when reading this blog? I'm told some like to be sat down, curled up with a cup of tea. Some read it on the train. Others on the shitter. Not on the shitter on the train of course. That's just madness.
Point is, most of us are creatures of habit. We all have our little rituals we follow. How many of those do you actually notice? Have you fiddled with your hair? Picked your nose? Answered 3 text messages and read this at the same time? Do you even notice your doing some of it? Feels good though doesn't it? Like a relaxation tool. God knows we need it in such a stressful world.
Me? I like fiddling with my nuts. I know it's grim. Sorry if I've put you off your meat and 2 veg. But since I was a kid it's an instinctive habit I've got into. Whenever I lay/sit down, my hands go on auto-pilot into my pants. It's a nightmare in interviews.
It's an awful habit. I'm not pulling myself off or anything. It's innocent. I'm just fiddling. You know when you see people spinning coins or marbles in their hands. Well that's what I'm doing. Except with gonads.
The reason I've done this odd intro? Well, today I read possibly the funniest quote ever. It was the story in the Metro about Raymond Hull, who has fathered 22 children, has 31 convictions and been 'on the sick' for 10 years because of a 'bad back'. (I swear this is not made up) The story is he was caught dealing Cannabis, but his 18 month sentence has been suspended, so he can care for his latest baby. Here is the link - http://metro.co.uk/2014/01/09/father-of-22-raymond-hull-spared-jail-to-care-for-youngest-child-4257171/
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‘I just love kids, even though I don’t speak to them all.' What the fuck!!!!!!
Hull also claimed he has never had to chase after women.
He added: ‘I’m easy going, they’re always chasing me.
‘I don’t know what it is about me, but I’m never short of offers.
‘It’s just my luck that every time I have a one-night stand, the girl ends up getting pregnant.
‘If it’s tidy, you don’t knock it back, do you?’
Words fail me. 'If it's tidy you don't knock it back do you?' Clearly he;s got a way with words. Total madness but It made me laugh out loudly on the tube never the less.
Any. My day? It was good. I enjoyed today.
I woke at 6am to a message from someone in the fellowship, sharing their pain via email. They cannot share it in a meeting so they sent me a message instead. I felt touched they chose me to share it with, though I felt a little sad they were unable to unload it in a meeting or safe place and be true to themselves.
I guess not everyone is the same. Some people are private, some open. Some people keep things close to their chest, some can't wait to blurt stuff out (I'm the latter) But I felt sad this person wasn't able to connect with how they feel in every day life.
It actually made me even more determined to be true to myself. Yes I'm open, brutally honest, fall out with people, say the wrong thing from time to time, uncomfortably open. But you know what? I'm me. I'm authentic. I say how I feel, good or bad. If I'm in pain I say it. If I'm up I say it. I cannot say one thing publicly and something else privately. I'm just not made that way. Nor do I want to be.
I respect we are all different but I'm almost fanatical about being open and 'saying it how it is'. Tell me anything as long as it's the truth. There is a freedom and lightness in getting things out. How many times have you confessed something you've been holding back only to say, 'God I feel so relieved'. Feels good doesn't it? How much better would lofe be if we told the truth. Not just the trth but the truth inside.
I can't say to my mates or people in the pub or at work. 'I'm feeling a bit of fear today and less than'. They would look at me like I've gone mad. I can't tell people at work, 'I'm grieving for my friend'. They couldn't give a shit.
Bottling all these things up takes energy, effort and pain. So many people are in pain it saddens me. I've been brought up in some households where repression is king. Do not admit the truth. Sweep it under the carpet. Pretend it doesn't exist. If I'm honest I've had a gut-full of it over my life and have no tolerance or patience for it anymore. Fuck it I'd rather have a tear up and confrontation than a festering silence. I hate it. Hate me, kill me, fuck me or kiss me, just don't repress me.
I truly believe repression is a disease. It gnaws away on the inside and I've rarely met a happy person or one who laughs who bottles things up all the time.
Rant over. It made me grateful to be the way I am if I'm honest. Warts and all. Cheers God.
Back to today, I did my morning routine and meditation which I'm beginning to mildly enjoy (amazing!) and even a little exercise. The Shovel Handed Marianna freed me from some pain yesterday by throwing me around and cracking bones. Relief. (Still no 'Happy Ending' with hand relief though)
Then my girlfriend fixed me a juice/shake/smoothie in the NutriBullet. My first ever. A maiden voyage for this little unhealthy fucker. Holy fuck what a top bit of equipment!! Girls think of the best ever vibrator and then multiply it by 1000. What a bit if kit. Throw in spinach, kale, beetroot, blueberries and water. Whizz it up and BOOM, breakfast shake packed with goodness, nutrients and no hassle to clear up. I'm a NutriBullet boy all day long. A total convert.
OK the shake tasted like shit and I had to wash it down with 5 cups of tea and x4 silk cuts but it's a start goddammit. Progress not perfection. If I was still drinking I'd add a few shots of vodka in that little puppy and be buzzing til teatime.
I'm on board with juicing. I tend not to put any nutrients in my body because of an erratic diet (and living solo) yet take a load out through smoking, caffiene and occasional bulimia. That is not a healthy balance. So juicing makes sense. I'm placing big faith in it. If I put nutrients in and stop taking them out then that is a much better ratio. Why have I been ignorant to that for so many years?
I threw on my suit, as I had an interview in the afternoon but first it was a chair (speaking on my experience of alcoholism to a meeting of AA) at a meeting in The West End.
I had been out the door 15 minutes when I was called Beckham in Co-op, East Putney. Why is it always Supermarkets? Luckily this wasn't a piss stained OAP. It was a care in the community looking big girl. (That's slightly un-PC isn't it?) - I hopped on the tube and was called Beckham by a group of 18 year old girls. (Thank God I'm a changed man these days and in a committed relationship, that's all I can say) Two Beckham's in 30 minutes. This was going to be an interesting afternoon.
The meeting at lunchtime was incredible. Easily my favourite part of the day. Powerful, emotional, honest, truthful. Funny. We are all in it together and you could feel a real energy of everyone saying their truth and finding a solution to their living problem. It was incredible. There were no words being said for show. People shared some real pain about family members dying from the disease and it made me cry. It made me even more determined to help wherever I can and carry the message of education about alcoholism.
I shared my truth and it seemed to kick off a powerful meeting that moved me to tears if I'm honest. I kept my hands out of my pants, was called Beckham in the meeting (Number 3) and was totally awestruck by the brutal honesty and power. I really am lucky to have it.
There aren't many things I'm sure of in this life but alcoholism is one of them. I respect the illness. I take the programme of recovery from it seriously but not myself. Rule 62 baby. I'll explain that tomorrow.
So I went off for my interview in good spirits. I had some lovely comments about my blog. They were enjoying, found it funny and looked forward it. Fuck the ego feeding, it's so good to give people pleasure or laughter or identification. It is worth while and makes me happy. (Plus I love praise let's call the truth Nick too)
The interview went well. I gave as good as I could. Was honest, passionate, enthusiastic and kept my hands on my lap not in it. I'm not the best one for using professional language in interviews, I'm a doer not a sayer. But it's a decent job, I really quite fancy it and would be great to get a half decent salary. I gave it my best shot.
If I'm honest, I last had a good job in sport I was passionate about 3 years ago. I've missed the prestige and interest in a job that fires me up. Going solo for 18 months and trying to get something off the ground only to get knocked back is a long, lonely trudge sometimes. I recognise that a decent job can give you esteem. It's only a job at the end of the day and writing etc is where my passion is but there's nothing like clinching a sale. Doing a deal and earning some money. That's a buzz, as long as you don't set your entire esteem and personality by it.
Jobs, money, material possessions come and go, it's the inside that counts. Having said that it's loads easier to be spiritual with a few quid in your pocket isn't it? The ultimate test is when you haven't.
Anyway. It's only a job. We shall see. Be really good to get one though. So if anybody is reading this blog and has a vacancy for £150,000 per year, private health scheme, pension, apartment and share option with a 4 hour working week then please drop me a line. Mind you I'll negotiate it down to 3 hours a week. I'm not a work-a-holic you know.
Together We Are Stronger
Nicholas Evans
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