Time for another ramble:
Been thinking over a few things today, career choices, nasty letters to people who want money off me, how much I want to be somewhere else. The usual, really.
I got through puberty by writing down my thoughts and feelings. I was prolific. Page after page chock full of self-pity, outrage, crushing paranoia, plans for the future. All my teenage angst spewed out on paper and immediately thrown away.
I think it kept me sane.
I've always been an outsider, you see. I was first called "weird" when I was six. Nothing specific, just I was quiet, thoughtful and bookish. I've always read a lot, preferring to have my nose in a book than watching telly or going out or anything like that. Yes, I had my party season - a year of intense pubbing and clubbing around Birmingham's now almost nonexistent Rock scene. But I never went MAD. I didn't use drugs like "E", Acid, Coke and all that, I didn't get all that drunk (mainly because I couldn't afford it). I pretty much just settled back and just enjoyed myself, dancing for hours, hanging round with friends, wasting days doing nothing. A fine example of humanity.
But there was always an act going on. Iwas never fully "ME". I was the boyfriend - later the ex-boyfriend, or the drinking acquaintance, or the indie-music-nerd, or the dutiful son, or the flirtatious tease, or the dirty, sweaty rocker bloke.
Then I went to a music festival. I'd worked a couple of months here, couple of months there, and was due a tax refund or two, so I figured I'd take myself on holiday with this little windfall.
It just so happened that this was the year the Sex Pistols were doing the rounds - their Filthy Lucre tour - and they were headlining the Phoenix Festival in Stratford-upon-Avon. Bowie was going to be there, so were Skunk Anansie, Cypress Hill and a load of others I couldn't wait to see, so I made my purchases - Festival Ticket, Tent, Bus ticket. I was set. Worked out how much food and clothes I'd need for the four days, packed them up and waited.
Six in the morning I took a taxi to the National Express station. By Eight, we were off. My first holiday in four years and the first time I'd ever been away completely on my own. I had exactly £2.50 in my pocket.
It was incredible. I'd got my tent up in about five minutes, and spent the next half hour helping the guy next to me put his up. He shared a joint with me as thanks. My first ever taste of any kind of illegal drug. It was brilliant! I only had a few drags that entire weekend, along with some cans of shitty almost boiled beer I'd brought with me, but I didn't need it. I was plenty high enough on the atmosphere - the joy and freedom and peacefulness that pervaded that entire four days left an impression on me that I've never abandoned. I got to know myself, I made peace with myself and came home with a new attitude.
No more acts. I am happy with who I am, faults and all.
It changed my life. I know I can be happy without all this worldly stuff around me. I know I'm happiest when I'm living the simple life, with few or none of the utilities we take for granted.
I can never be comfortable in a city. No-one I know feels the same way about things, but I know I won't be content until I've shed some of this comfortable living. Take aways, digital TV, easy transportation, mass entertaiment and miles and miles and miles of concrete. It's just not me. Give me countryside, open spaces, make-do-and-mend. This is what I crave. I need it to be whole and happy and content. Give me a cave with broadband internet access and I'll show you a happy Hedgewitch!
That's who I am, and I'm happy with who I am. Sometimes I think I'm the only one in the world who is.
I need to sleep.
