I apologise for not being around for so long. I am very sorry if anyone was worried. I have been having a bit of a bad time and just haven’t had the heart to blog. Even now I am finding it difficult to write this.
Over the past few weeks I thought my marriage was over. It doesn’t matter about the details. I guess all that matters is that I feel betrayed by my best friend and the love of my life. Whether or not I technically was betrayed remains in that most hated, most inconclusive place – the grey area – it is possible I might never know for sure.
Last week I seriously thought I was having a nervous breakdown. It was a weird, almost welcome feeling like I was suspended in jelly. I think I know now what it must be like to be an actor in a Tim Burton movie – it’s like the whole world is a climate-controlled water bed.
When I was a kid I didn’t understand the term nervous breakdown. I thought it was a really nervous breakdancer who just couldn’t master the hang glide freeze. Admittedly, the hang glide freeze is an extremely difficult move and not for the faint-hearted bboy; but it is nowhere near as difficult as the dead halo freeze. I mean, just the name of that move alone would make even the most experienced bboy lose the beat. With all those stabs and slides and Brooklyn Rocks I can understand why breakdancers get nervous.
I mean, anybody would.
When I was a kid I also confused a breakdown with breaking it down. Break it down – as in a singer going all a cappella in the middle of a song and ditching the band.
I was confused a lot as a child because everbody knows a breakdown of the nervous kind has nothing to do with how many vocal arpeggios you can fit into a chorus.
In truth, I haven’t actually had a breakdown but I am really fed up. One morning when everyone had gone to work or school I just lay on the floor of the bedroom for over an hour. It was quite nice because I have a Persian rug in the bedroom and it is very soft and comfy. It is one of my treasures with its mixture of reds and golds and blues. It makes me thinks of those coffee houses you see in places in the Middle East where the coffee is served in those beautiful cups with jewels on them. Imagine drinking coffee from those every day. It might just transform you.
As I lay there on my Persian rug I felt really bad but I also was laughing a bit. The whole situation was quite ludicrous. I was torn between wailing like a princess diva type or getting all Jersey Shore on anyone at close enough range.
Instead I noticed the rich life under my bed. The land of lost things. There was a pen under there I haven’t seen for a few years, a five cent piece (which I now call my lucky coin), the button from my favourite black shirt and a ball of dust that I believe had its own ecosystem.
I amused myself for an entire hour alternating between ranting at the universe for kicking me while I was down and by making up stories about the creatures who lived in the dust ball.
I am feeling slightly better now but I am still having trouble getting through the day. I am so bloomin’, blinkin’, about to burst a gasket mad. And bad. And dangerous to know. Just like Byron but without the lacy collars and excessive drug use.
So I am sorry if you were worried. You are my dearest friends. I want you to know that. You are literally like sunshine on a cloudy day, just like The Temptations said.
Thank you for your concern. It means the world to me.