Defraging (1:07:88 PB)

OK, massive rant about something I just cannot keep in. Its full of stupid analogies and I don't understand half of it, maybe you will make more sense of it and relate to the feelings contained herein:

Hello you, and welcome to the 'great fight', the 'great bridge',(and I don't mean Cambridge,although true)and the relentless list of analogies to explain something we all feel at some point in our lives. This combined with a journal 'of sorts' of my own thoughts and ideas provides you with a rather intricately blended blog for your literature reviewing, liking or even critiquing pleasure...

Sometimes you reach a point in life that everything is chaos. You can't help but look around you at what life has become and wonder 'how did I end up here?' I guess the most cliche examples would be a middle life crisis, or a marriage that honestly should have never happened (I am glad to say I have yet to experience either). When things go right they go very right. Equally when they go wrong they crash and burn into the infinite abyss never to see the light of day again. Can you tell I have a connotative predisposition to the later? After 16 months with someone I genuinely believed I would marry, not bad for a 22 year old.

Its scary isn't it? This sort of age, whereby if ever the even the concept of marriage, and kids arises. The typical adolescent response would be to shrug it off for future me to handle. Rather annoying at the age of 22 your view your life, consider babies, and consider those around you who are either married and/or have children, and think...shit...your actually at a stage whereby all that becomes, well...viable. damn you viability!

Anyway, marriage rant and tangent aside...you try to pick yourself up, through an intricate network of old (and some new) friends, and old comforts both virtuous (gym, working harder, helping someone) and vice (ben and jerries, drinking etc). You defend yourself mentally like Fort Knox on moderation or inspection day by shifting to any near priority, any and plan or objectives towards something that...well wasn't. For all INTENTS AND PURPOSES (thanks Matt :) ) it doesn't matter what. The what matters very little, just as long as it is not aimed at, or conjunction with, her. You try and force all those feelings into a shoe box under your bed in the form of a Polaroid photo,a few letters, and random objects or something, and then fail miserably.The memories you hold with someone like that are not just still frames or silent movies in your mind (if only). They are covered and intertwined with emotions that would make your blood boil and your heart just sink straight through you. All it takes is a voice, a word, a text, something that suddenly everything you wanted to say just dissipates out of every part of your body. As for me, 6 weeks on, of what is seemingly a lifetime, I find myself still will the mental age of a five year old. Nonetheless For me relationships constantly change, and people don't.

For now we sit somewhere between an arms race and 16 month computer desktop (I will explain in due course). We sit in our trenches with loaded weaponry, and times slows, the voices around you dimmer and all your hear is the very sound of your own breathing. The question which racks my brain is 'where do we go from here?'

The short tale of the optimist...
The optimist with his half full glass would say, it will all work out. You'll be great. They know you better than you know yourself (a sad fact that everyone should admit im afraid). Anything shy of the optimistic stance would be a shame and a waste. What I took away from it all was not a waste, and I feel I am in a situation (i seriously hope) that none of it was a waste. none of it. It was worth every fuck up, every annoyance, every grievance, but equally it was worth every smile, every high, every moment of pure genius (there were a lot), and there is nothing more that makes you feel more alive.

The short tale of the pessimist...
Conversely the pessimistic, you my know him? yes, no? well, just in case you don't he is the one in the corner, head down, with a limit colour pallete and limited ambition or hope left. His glass is indeed half empty. He opens his mouth and says somethings don't change, you cant change, they shouldn't change, and despite circumstances, you were something to her, at some point. Just not now. She was the world to you and vice versa. But now your paths don't cross, and you exist in a parallel world full of differences. When you see her all that water that is supposedly under the bridge either evaporates and rains down on you (geography reference for the girls over the road), and soaks you making you feel like your cold and wet and wishing you never tried to cross that bridge in the first place. The moisture (or poison) is in every word you say, every sentence you compile. You both fight your minds trying to convince yourself that you have moved on, or that things just wont work. Truthfully, and brutally honestly you don't need each other, not now. But then again you never really did. Nevertheless you fight your own consciousness to round 3 until something eventually KOs you. You reach a point whereby a simple phone call ends up another blow, and your worse off than before you pressed dial. Your cold and shivering with the warmth ever so slowly fading and dying.

The conclusions of the realist...
So what of the realist? What of the middle man in this argument. By the way can you tell I'm a Libra (balance, justice and all that jazz). Well rather interesting I think the realist establishes that both the optimist and pessimist are in fact both right. Now I hate fences, and consequently people who sit on them. In any situation hard wood up your arse is never a good thing and I have yet found a scenario or circumstance to falsify that. It does not matter which way you look at it, the glass still contains half air, half water. no question.

Right now I still keep hold of that Dougal past in recognition that either way, I have a future. I also accept that plans and people change just like the weather itself. The reality comes down to a rather annoying, yet grounding remarks of my mother, who reminds me, still to this day 'I want, never gets...' damn you mother! Mothers are annoyingly always right, its a phenomenon I have yet to fully grasp. So this is my understanding of it. This is what I do know. I do know that we have never been just friends, best friends interweaved in something which goes way way beyond friendship...yes. Both, rather aptly, grew in harmony and simultaneously as we did. All I see now is something which is messy. It is somehow, somewhat, of an organised chaos bound by the social and physical constraints, restraints and cultural norms of a Cambridge-Gloucester born, middle class, young adult. What became seemingly familiar is now a total unknown. Somehow I reach a point of memory loss, I have tried to clean up the disks, and attempted to delete those temporary files of hate, anger, sadness and immaturity that she (am I) so hates, and look at the bigger picture to find...hope. I have realised though, the hard qustion of what recycle bin files should and should not be restored. I very long and arduous task and believe me I suck at more than she does. She calls herself a technophobe... I think not, well at least you are seemingly not in this case. After such a incidence has occurred you find yourself trying to defrag, and its not something whereby you can leave your computer on overnight and in the morning everything is all nicely aligned (I wish). The files and pieces of information all over my mind and all within hers are being clustered and tidied, in an attempt to regain organisation that we had built upon for 16 months. Right now I believe we are both running faster, and perhaps those important and integral files still remain, and in the end the pain will be first be replaced with an apology..........after that, even a thank you......Even if never said.

x9