I'm not sure why the fire within burns so fiercely. It can manifest itself in many ways. Some glaringly obvious, like losing your temper, others less so, like being critical of yourself and others.
Sometimes the fire burns, other times the pilot light merely flickers. For me it is always on. My trick is not to let it catch.
I find it hard. Particularly when tired or when things aren't going my way, or when I'm unhappy at my own behaviour. The merest thing can set it off.
I'm not sure why I'm so ultra critical. Maybe it's because I'm a Virgo. Virgo's are notorious perfectionists, otherwise known as 'anal', but I won't go down that route. That's for another blog and a meeting of Sex Addicts Anonymous. I'm not into star signs anyway. Anal is another matter.
Perhaps it's because I'm an alcoholic and one of the glaring defects of the alcoholic personality is huge intolerance and impatience.
Perhaps it's because I'm a control freak/ego maniac and want things my way.
Or perhaps because I struggle with acceptance? I am like the director of the show and if things don't go the way I want them I get all clucky and agitated. I can't accept.
Perhaps It's because I struggle with a higher power and playing God all the time is just collision course for misery and unhappiness. No-one is going to do things the way I want to ALL the time, so perhaps it's better to let the big fella run the show and chill the fuck out?
Or perhaps people really are massively annoying and the world is full of idiots and deserve to be given 'the treatment'.
God knows, I certainly haven't got the answers today. I know one thing. There are more of you lot than there are of me and I better learn to live in harmony with the world otherwise I'm on collision course.
That is where the 'fuck it' button becomes so appealing. The ultimate escape from a tight spot. One push of that mighty button and you're gone for good.
I can understand why people do. We are faced with so many ridiculous pressures everyday it's no wonder occasionally on bad days the 'fuck it' option becomes the best one.
My Father did the ultimate 'fuck it' in 1985 and walked out of normal life and into heavy alcoholism. Full flight from reality.
Yes he missed out on loads of beautiful things and died a lonely alcoholic sad tragic death, but at least he did it on his terms. He didn't have to worry about tax returns, house prices, mortgages, life insurance, commuting, power point presentations, mobile phone bills, twitter followers and everything else that is modern life.
On some days I look at people who have stepped out of the 'rat race' and think they are the real heroes. Did they press a final 'fuck it' button from real life?
Yesterday I had a huge fuck it moment. I helped my Mum in the afternoon as she moved into her house. I drive down from London on one of my sacred days off to help her buy some things. I got there, built a coffee table, unloaded a few things and then we went out to buy her a TV.
After a couple of futile trips to Tesco and Asda we decided to drive to Reading to Currys. It was by the Majeski stadium, and I noticed there was a football match being played. It was 4.30pm, soon there would be 20,000 people trying to get home. I smelt danger.
"This place is going to be mobbed Mum," Trying to warn her off so we buggered off home,
"But it's just here darling, we won't be long."
Internally "Fuck".
She was desperate to get what we needed, I knew she would have been disappointed had we left there and then. I drove onto Curry's knowing what was to come.
We quickly purchased a 40 inch TV, phones, printer and Ironing board. We were packed, in the car and off home by 5.20. The trouble is so were 12,000 other people.
As we sat in traffic for 30 mins, gridlocked I could feel my temperature rising. A dinner date in London was looking distinctly dubious and my anger grew minute by stationary minute. On the road to no-where.
My Mum was busy telling me how she was looking forward to watching X factor on the big screen and all I could think in my head was......FUCK IT!!!!
Fuck X factor. Fuck doing chores. Fuck traffic and Reading and Real fucking life. Fuck it! Fuck it all. Fuck it all against a big wall and then piss on it. Fuck it. Big fucking huge Fuck it button. If one was there I would have pushed it. All fucking week working, caged up in London, queuing everywhere. Home to train to office and back. Caged. No space, no open expanse. Just frustration. And now. In Reading. In traffic. More fucking waiting. Fuck it. Fuck this. Fucking Fuck it......I thought. I was frustrated. You may have guessed.
(I'd like to point out those were my stream of conscious thoughts. They weren't real. They were not logical. I do not think them now. I didn't express them. They were deep frustrated thoughts.)
I then understood why my old man did what he did. If it wasn't for AA and recovery and sharing my feelings I would have to drink. I couldn't live with my 'Fuck it' button solo. Man my head is built to well up frustration.
Real life is really annoying sometimes. I am not very tolerant sometimes. I am critical and judgmental and impatient. I can be a nightmare but we all have our bad days right?
Bottom line is I turned up for service, helped out my Mum, kept my trap shut, didn't mow anyone down in Reading, put up a coffee table, put her 42 inch TV up so she could watch X factor and buggered off.
For me yesterday was a classic case of having smart feet. Turn up and your head will finally follow. Plus of course, no matter how tempted, DO NOT push the fuck it button. It nearly always ends in tears (and 42 inch plasma's being broken. Luckily I didn't press mine yesterday despite being sorely tempted.)
Nicholas E Evans.
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