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Dead Bee

Updated: Jul 2, 2020

I’ve been making a conscious effort to be more optimistic recently –  for example, instead of constantly worrying that my life might be shit, I’m hoping that my inability to resist Greggs’ extremely reasonably priced selection of baked goods will mean that my life might be short instead. When I try to analyse it, I normally conclude that a lot of my anxiety stems from the fact that the future is unpredictable; and that you can’t plan for when Will Young will next invade the airwaves with yet another classic hit. I want to be able to visualise what things will be like in the future, and I’m thinking maybe in a few years I’ll have a career and that’ll help to eliminate the uncertainty of life – I’ll finally be certain that my life is as bad as I currently expect it to be.

One of the things I’m becoming aware of is that very few people, myself included, are that important. In my head I guess I’ve always dreamt of being someone who’s special and talented like James Morrison (the “You Give Me Something” singer, not the West Brom midfielder) but the reality is that I’m just average and forgettable like James Morrison (the West Brom midfielder, not the the singer of the smash-hit “Broken Strings”). I’ve been reading a bit about the theory that our universe could just be a simulation and what we think of as reality might actually be a computer program. I read that there could be infinitely many of these simulated universes which makes me feel even more insignificant, the more I read about it the more I’m convinced that I’m just a bit of code, trapped inside a Leicester fan’s Football Manager career mode.

I suppose I should probably believe in myself a bit more, and this year has shown me that anything is possible. We live in a world were Leicester can win the league and watching Britain’s Got Talent can still be seen as an alternative to doing anything else. Sometimes I think that if I work hard then everything will fall into place and I’ll feel like I have a purpose. But I find it hard to stay motivated, even for things I enjoy doing – the only reason I’m writing this blog is that I’m lonely and I have to wait 12 hours before I’m allowed to swipe right on Tinder again. Everything I do is done just to fill the time between the soul-destroying periods where I stare at the profiles of strangers and pray to my Leicester-supporting god that they’re as lonely as I am.

An issue I have is that I focus on my failures a bit too much – and I think it would be healthier to focus on other people’s failures instead. I was really happy that Zac Goldsmith failed to become the Mayor of London this week as his campaign tactics were about as palatable as a banana made out of shit*. His campaign was mainly based on portraying Sadiq Khan as an extremist, and I’m not sure what evidence he had to suggest that would work. When you take a risk like that you’ve got to be sure it’s going to be successful – like John O’shea when he nutmegged Luis Figo all those years ago.

I was really happy that Sadiq Khan won though, especially since he was from a poor background and I quite like an underdog story. Part of me does think that I can draw a lot of inspiration from the achievements of Leicester, Sadiq Khan and John O’shea. I want to follow my dream, it’s just my dream is to be able stay in bed and eat cinnamon swirls everyday – and that’s really difficult to monetise. I worry I lack the self-belief that other people have, and that my negativity leaves my chances of being successful about as alive as Jim Morrison (the former lead singer of the Doors, not to be confused with James Morrison or James Morrison).

I did a couple of gigs this week as well. One of them was well good and they paid the acts £10 travel expenses. It didn’t even cost me £10 to get there so I was proper buzzing like a bee. But then I realised the train ticket I bought was the wrong one and I had to buy a new one so I wasn’t buzzing anymore. I was like a dead bee.

Anyway, that’s about it.

Cya x

*I dunno, there’s a rotten banana on my desk and I was looking at it and thinking: imagine if it was full of poo. Would taste bad wouldn’t it.


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