I had an epiphany this morning. I’m afraid of failing.

Quite the revelation if you ask me. I am afraid to do things because the thought of failure horrifies me. It’s only in the most desperate situations that I am forced into action. This is not a good way to live my life and flies in the face of my recent decision to stop caring. How can I not care if I’m afraid of the consequences of not achieving something? This does not bode well for me.

I need to stop being scared of not attaining my goal, because it’s actually going to become a severe handicap if I don’t. I have a job application to complete today and I am procrastinating because I do not enjoy the thought of possibly failing. The criteria are high and I’m beset on all sides by self-doubt and feelings of inadequacy.

I’m formulating excuses not to try:

“It’s too nice outside today. I should mow the lawn.”
“I don’t have enough time to complete before the deadline.”
“I have enough on my plate at the minute.”
“You might not get through and then you’ll have wasted your time.”
“I need to write something in my blog.”
“I have been neglecting my forums recently and they need some attention.”
“There will be other opportunities.”

Man up, Alan! Stop being a pussy about it. If you don’t try you’ll never succeed. If you fail… it doesn’t matter.

Blogging helps me to remember and to rationalise, especially when I’m going through a difficult period in my life, such as I am now. It helps me to recollect how I reached a decision; the thought process and the feelings I felt. It enables me to ‘empty my head’ to somewhere that I can better understand and manage my thoughts. Right now, at this juncture in my life, I’m turning to my blog to help me get through the bad times, keep the faith, stay the course, and come out the other side in one piece (and maybe smiling).

Today I had the thought that the path I have embarked upon was – Gasp! – The wrong one.

It would be best, I told myself, for us to call a truce and work towards a settlement that kept our family together. That would be the easy option; the best option for us both. This is what I was telling myself! I know!

Doing the right thing is doing the hard thing. No matter how I look at it, the next couple of years are going to be tough; tough financially, and tough emotionally too. Yesterday I had to stop myself from crying at work over the thought of losing Thomas. I know I’d see him a lot, but not being able to see him each morning when he woke up and each night when he went to bed is killer. I don’t like the idea of being away from him. It hurts to think about it too much. As many people have said to me, staying together for the kids in the wrong thing to do and I agree wholeheartedly, but if there was one thing I would stay for, it would be Thomas. And it would be worth it in my own deluded little brain.

But I know it would be wrong on him, on her, and on me. A separation is the best course of action for two people who don’t love each other. Agree? Good.
So I come back to the blog to reinforce and remember why I made this decision and why I must stick with it. It’s the right thing to do and is already changing my outlook on life. I can’t turn away from that which is right in front of my eyes. If in doubt, reading my own words is enough to keep me on course.

Even though we’re getting on reasonably well at the minute, doesn’t mean we’re good together or ever will be. If we can co-exist in the same circle for the sake of Thomas, that’s great. And if we can be friends, that’s great too. But we’re not lovers; haven’t been for a long time, and won’t ever be again. The writing is on the wall, and has been for a long, long time.

The problem we have now is how to extricate ourselves from the situation we’re in. How do we undo a 30 year commitment in such as way that neither of us is left damaged by the fallout financially? How do I assuage some of the guilt I feel over this entire mess of a situation. Yes, I feel to blame. I dragged her from somewhere she was very happy with the hope of a future for us. Four months later and I’m backtracking. She should, by rights, hate every fibre of my being. Not just because of what I have done to her but also for what I have done to Thomas. I feel responsible. I feel guilty. I feel like I am to blame and need to make amends. I also need to consider that I have inadvertently wrapped Terry up in this whole mess. That’s total bad times. Not at all what I wanted to do and I feel responsible for that too.

Okay. The easiest thing for me to do is to say ‘goodbye’ to the entire thing. Force/push for a sale of this house at a loss on what we paid for it, and move back to my old house. I’d be happy there and I would manage very easily financially either with Terry with me or by myself. This new house can go under, I’ll take on the chin any financial penalty that come with it such as having to still pay off the mortgage after the sale or having to cover the bank loan. The risk is that the house doesn’t sell quickly and I end up having to pay for it and pay for the old house too (if I live there) and end up defaulting and suffering a repossession. That would ruin both of us financially for at least the next six years. On the flip of that, I have the old house so after the six years in the financial wilderness I’d have a house with equity, and be okay. She’d not come off as well and would be stuck in rental hell for the foreseeable.

Neither of us can afford to stay here by ourselves. I’ve said I’d leave, but she couldn’t stay if I did. She said she’d leave and the only way I could stay would be if I rented out both of the other rooms in the house in order to generate some income to help pay the mortgage. She messaged me today and said she wasn’t happy to remain on the mortgage and not live here. I can understand where she’s coming from in this, but there’s no way the bank will sign the house over to me until such a time as I can show I’m able to afford it; and that will only be possible through getting a few months rent history behind me.

It will be hard financially to keep it going, but the alternative is financial meltdown and I don’t want that for either of us.

Of course, if I do take the hard route of renting out the rooms, then signing over the house to just me, the rewards are eventually going to be great. How many other people in my position and with my earning potential will own two homes? Not many, for sure. It’s just that getting there is risky and tough.

But then, anything worth having is worth fighting for. The combination of terrible alternative for us all and the promise of future rewards makes this a simple enough choice. I’ll take over the house. Rent out the rooms, and then eventually move to take it over solo.

And that, ladies and gents, is why I love this blog. It helps me to render thoughts into black and white. It assists in the making of decisions.

Well done if you made it this far. Treat yourself to some Janelle Monáe (and comment if you wanna):

This will be waffle but to hell with it.

It’s 23:41 (at this exact minute) and I’m drunk, sat in the conservatory, with the patio wide open. It’s balmy (good word). I’m drunk. But, for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m alive, living, breathing and human. I feel emotion. I feel pain. That makes me feel more alive. Feeling is living and I realise now that I have spent a lot of months numbed; unfeeling and emotionless. Human life is apart from animal life on account of our ability to feel. Feel hurt. Feel good. Feel pain. Feel free. Feel empty. Feel love. Feel vulnerable. Feel content. Feel drunk. Feel like living and loving. How can we exist in relationships that stop us feeling? A relationship should be about growing feelings not stunting feelings. I hate to say it but I have been blinkered by the relationship I was in. I was stunted emotionally, physically, sexually, sensually, by this relationship. But it’s over and now I can grow in love and life. I cannot express how good it feels to be free.

I. Feel. Alive.

It’s. Awe. So. Me.

Thanks, Kory:

I am a coward and a pussy.

Last night we had a talk about us and we both agreed we’re not working and probably never will. The thing is; I’m not willing to change for her. I don’t love her (enough?) for me to go through a metamorphosis into a modern family man. I am me. I like being me. Sure, sometimes I don’t; but every genius is beset by self-doubt on occasion (delusions of grandeur!).

Man, it’s almost as if I can’t take this seriously. There is a certain comedy/tragedy about us. The number of times we’ve been on then off then on again is embarrassing. And, the situation as it stands is that this cannot go on any more. We cannot keep doing this. It’s unfair on us, it’s unfair on our respective families who have to support us when it all goes wrong, and ultimately, it’s unfair on Tom who, at three years old, cannot understand what’s going on. He’s had so many homes in his nearly four years that I feel sick. If there is any justification for my self-loathing it’s him; that ‘poor little soul’ who gets stuck in the middle of us when we destroy our relationship. It makes me feel a little bit sick. He deserves better. He deserves some stability, at least.

I hate that I can’t love her. That’s the crux of the situation. I don’t love her enough to be able to work at or fix what little we have left. That ship sailed.

BUT, and this is the killer. I need to remember that and live that and respect that. I can’t U-turn and try and put this all back together in a year or 6 months or similar. It’s done. It’s over. Am I trying to convince myself?

I don’t think I need any convincing. I cried a little bit when I saw Tom this morning. And it breaks my heart to know that I won’t see him every day. It’s killer and it almost makes me want to work at this. To stay together for the kids is a tragic mistake but one I have given much consideration. Can I sacrifice my happiness for living with my boy and forging a family relationship with them both? Can I forgive the lack of communication? The lack of affection? The lack of intimacy?

Is HE worth it?

Yes.

But I will only be delaying the inevitable if I do. I will only be putting off an inevitable break up if I stick with this. And at least (excuses, Alan) now he’s young enough to bounce back from this and enjoy life. With two parent who love him, and two parent who are happy rather than resenting each other.

It’s so hard. It really hurts though to say goodbye to him. Even though I will see him as much as I can, it won’t be every day and it won’t be like it is now. I can ensure though, that he knows I love him, and I can make sure the time we do spend together is time spent well. Time spent in love a father has for his son. Quality time.

This is right. It hurts. But it’s right.

I have to remember that.

Times they are hard. Not to the point of poverty, but I’m not exactly rolling in it.

Last month she asked me if I would like to go see George Michael. Not really, no. But I relented and agreed because I thought it might be good for us to do something together. Tickets in the region of £80 each. Who ends up paying for them? Me.

If you wanted to ask, “will you buy tickets so we can see George Michael?” then just say that don’t drop a bombshell of “oh I haven’t got any money you will have to pay for them”. It’s not like I had any choice either when Terry had put them on his credit card.

I sold my bike this month in order to pay off a debt. I used £80 of it to pay for the roof to be fixed.

She wants me to pay the car tax (on her car) this month too. That’s another £80.

Yesterday she dropped the boy’s school photo order form on the mantle piece and said, “put your card details on when you’re ready”. That’s another £30. Running total, £190. From £341 for the bike. Once eBay have taken their 10% it leaves me with very little left. So much for paying off debt. This is what the selling of the bike was all about.

Annoyed doesn’t cover it.

But am I annoyed at paying out this money or am I annoyed that I am too much of a coward to say no?

Mother,

When I was 19 or so and living in Grimsby devoid of job and bereft of opportunity and prospects, it was you I could turn to and know you would save me. I was lost. I was smoking way too much dope, mixing with the wrong people. I was thin, unhealthy, anti-social, broke, depressed (maybe) and I needed an escape route.

If you had not suggested I move to Darlington I might still be there scratching a living from the filth of that town.

I just wanted to say ‘thank you’ for giving me the opportunity to start over.

Alan

Dear Lady who rescued us from the rain,

We didn’t really need rescuing, and we could not have been much wetter than we already were, especially me in shorts and a t-shirt caught on in a tropical (seemingly) downpour.

But that you stopped your car to pick up three strangers and their dog and ferry them back to warmth speaks much for how much of a good person you are.

I was sorry to hear that your husband had passed, but take heart from the fact you were ready to talk about it, to us three strangers.

Anyway, I just wanted to say ‘thanks again’ for what you did. I’ll remember it, and you, for a long time.

Alan

Erg.

I wrote that last post utterly certain that it was how I was feeling, that it was an accurate account of me, that I meant every word. It was only a day later that I started to think that I didn’t really think that way, and that it wasn’t really the way I was feeling (or rather wasn’t really the cause of why I was feeling how I was).

Why am I so confused when I’m thirty-sodding-three? At what point does life and your head settle down and accept things as they are and make the best of them.

Sure, it’s not ideal. I was walking back from shopping today and wondering at what point did I become that middle-aged bloke I used to sneer at not so long ago. Trudging around with shopping bags and a whiney child. Doing the expected Saturday thing.

I am that man.

Erg.

She’s finally gone to bed meaning I can get the lap top out and jot down a few thoughts I’ve had over the last few days. I’ve poured myself a glass of wine, there is some trivial crap on the TV, peace, quiet, getting back into blogging.

I’m not going to look, but I don’t think I have blogged anything since before the house move; other than a youtube video I posted when I was stalling for time one day. I had promised myself to blog more often. Daily, I think I said at one point. And I did have intentions of doing so but, like the best of, they fell by the wayside and were replaced with other things. Another forum idea, some playing games, watching movies, walking up giant hills, doing anything but jotting down thoughts, which is why I decided to start and persist with blogging in the first place. What am I so afraid of? Is it the chance that I may say something that I don’t want to hear? (or write something I don’t want to read, to be more precise.)

Possibly, is the answer. But this is my outlet. I mean, I don’t really have anyone I can talk to, and certainly not her ladyship. My friends, yes I can talk to them, but doing so is largely irrelevant as they don’t give me the answers I need. Nobody can, except for me, and I don’t want to listen to what I have to say. I have got myself, at 33 years old, into a difficult situation and, to compound matters, there is no obvious, easy, realistic way out. I’m trapped in my prison of ideal home, ideal family, token affection, bitterness and resentment, disappointment, financial dependency, expectation, sexless misery, same bed frustration, relationship dysfunction and alcohol induced freedom.

What the hell am I supposed to do?

Someone who I hold an unexpected deep affection for asked me yesterday, ‘[are you] still living the “Christmas” situation?’

Yes. Things have not improved since Christmas when I actually considered ending this but could not because, after all, it was Christmas. Instead things have got worse, and I have plunged deeper into the misery of modern life. Willingly, insanely, I willingly entered deeper into this mess of a relationship. Even knowing the mess we have been through, and knowing deep down that it would never get better. Why? Why did I do this? The honest, decent, sensible thing to do was to end things there, and to stop messing about in a sham relationship. But I went deeper. What the hell is that all about?

The situation as it stands, we have a house which everyone but me seems to love. Yes, it’s ideal; Big, roomy, spacious. Beautiful garden perfect for entertaining, and perfect for the kids. Close to work, close to Tom’s school. It is somewhere that my son can grow up safe and happy. A place he can love to be. How the am I supposed to rob him of that? Am I prepared to live in this loveless relationship, knowing there is something and someone out there which will give me more than I have now, and ruin the boys childhood in the process? Am I really that selfish? Is it wrong to be that selfish?

How long will I accept this situation? At what point is it safe for me to extricate myself without causing irrevocable damage to my son? Try putting yourself in my shoes and try justifying destroying his life for your own happiness. It really ain’t all that easy.

Christ, am I angsty or what? I’m so desperately unhappy, frustrated that there is nothing I can do about that unhappiness without hurting the one I love the most. It’s a truly, truly, awful status quo, yet it is one I am beholden to.

Can you imagine what that is like?

Cards on the table time: I want nothing else more than to pack a bag and leave this place.

I can’t. And that, to be perfectly honest, sucks.

So yeah, I’m gonna get back into it. It might not be pretty, but it’s me.

I am sorry, dear readers, that it has been so long since my last post. I have had my head up my arse in many respects, and this blog took a back seat. That is not to say that my time has been wasted. Oh, no! I’ve moved house! Yay! And jumped on the Dead Island bandwagon with a new forum. YAY!!

First the house move, man that is stressful. We only moved 500 yards ish, and we had a week or more before we had to hand over the keys to the old place, but I don’t know if having that time and short distance actually made things worse. If we’d been moving far and had to give up the keys right away, we would have had to get stuff done right there and then. Instead, because we had time, we took it. Considering we moved in 4th March, it’s only today that I have finished doing all the little jobs I needed to do at the old house. The female has been irritating me due to how stressed she is over it all, and I think that has made things worse for me. I’m naturally chilled out, yet have been feeling some pressure, mainly, I guess, due to her taking things so hard.

It ain’t life and death, dude. Get over it.

But now I’m in and I almost like the place. It still doesn’t totally feel like my home yet, but then neither did the last place. But then, in many respects it feels familiar. Maybe I expected a new house to be a new start and that things would be better. Maybe I should give it more time before I start being all negative and hung up. It’s done now. For good or for ill I’m committed.

Some of you will be thinking right now, ‘you don’t seem too sure about this’ and you’d be right. Others, or maybe the same people will be thinking, ‘you bought a house with someone even though you’re not sure about this’ and you’d be right. Sue me. My life. My mistakes to make.

What’s done is done, say some people. I don’t, I say ‘what’s done can be undone if you just set your mind to it’. Nothing is permanent.

In other news, I sold my car. 😦 Or rather I accepted an ebay offer made on Friday night. Not heard anything back since and starting to worry a little bit. Poop!

I’ll talk about the Dead Island thing in a little bit. I just wanted to get a post up in March since I had not yet.

It’s good to be back.