Well perhaps not a neo-Luddite, but I’m all anti-social baby! I’ve been thinking about what keeps me in Bristol as opposed to moving back to Wales or to Sheffield. It dawned on me last night as I ventured to an art installation and shin-dig in an abandoned garage, with my friends - What keeps me in Bristol is the learning of something that has as of yet eluded me, socialisation.
If you know me then you’re probably aware of what an anti-social, old moaning bastard I can be. It’s not something that I go out of my way to be but sometimes it’s hard to suppress the impulse to hide from the world and if I do have to interact with it, moan. I realized last night I never learnt sociability when I was younger, and so now, here in Bristol this is my new project.
Now to some people growing learning to be sociable and communicative is a necessity, or a pleasure. To me it was neither, and the problem with that is now I am in a city where if you don’t work at communicating with others you would call your friends, they just carry on regardless. I guess I am not quite ready to have an adult sticker, but I am working on it.
Have you ever noticed though when you enter a situation that makes you feel uncomfortable - being sociable in my case - that your mind starts painting alternatives, and saying ‘why are you wasting your time, there’s other things you could be doing?’. My greatest battle is going to be with that little pale limbed twat sitting in a purple velvet reclining chair in my head, pulling little brass levers and bits of twine.
I know that I will never be the most sociable of people, I enjoy my privacy and I enjoy my solitude; However I sometimes, shockingly have a good time in the company of others. When it involves having to seek out their company though, that is where I fall down.
I’ve always felt embarrassed for some reason to seek out others company. I assume that if they wanted my time they would contact me, and that if they don’t it’s because they somehow find me to be boring, annoying, taxing or something even worse. I realize that this is paranoia on my part, and may seem silly to most of you reading this but just because I realize it is paranoia does not mean I can shake it. When you find your head disappearing under water all you want to do is hide.
I write to you on the Day of the Depressed - though I feel anything but that today, let me assure you! Sunday is for many the most depressing day of the week. What the hell are we supposed to do on Sunday. I almost feel like going to Church, sitting in one of the back rows with a ghetto-blaster and playing Satanic Music when the Pastor stands to speak. That would be as useful as anything else you could do on a Sunday - A gloomy one at that!
As I mentioned earlier I happened across an art installation yesterday, a one day special run by I’ve no idea, I think partly the squatters who live there. Among others things there was some very nice Graffiti there. Click on the image below for my photoblog with more shots.
YARGH! My back is still hurting. oweee. I will get arnica tomorrow and see if that is useful. I have decided that the next two-four weeks will be Nemo gets fit Summer Super Workout. Doomed to fail from the get go this exciting multi-discipline festival gala of events will have fireworks, backpain and lots and lots of blood and sweat.
What, you mean you got this far?
*edit*
Just thought I would add that for amusements sake I thought I would download and watch the infamous ‘Bloodrayne‘, one of the lowest ever scoring films on IMDB. I now understand the phrase: "Uwe Boll bad". Uwe, I hope you die a horrible fucking death, slow, protracted and writhing about on the floor in agony.
