FINAL DAY FOUR

The thing about packing up all my stuff is that I find all the things that I lost, I remember the things I forgot to do and the life I did not have time to lead.

The things I lost:
In the corner of my room is a pile of larp kit, including props, material for kit and the like. Now I can start on those projects, should I find them again after the move.

The things I forgot to do:
I had a pile of papers and things, including letters from my MP, where they replied to me. I have always wanted a dialogue between myself and my MP, but when it takes them four months to reply and you have forgotten your question it makes things difficult. There are application forms for jobs and PhDs that remain unfilled or half filled.

The life I did not have time to lead:
I have lived next to a gym but didn't go when it would have been so convenient. There were things within this room that I didn't even unpack from the last time I moved. There are books on Egypt and hieroglyphics that I didn't study in the two years I lived here. I just wanted to watch crappy tv and waste time on the internet when I got home from work. What have I become? Why has my bass guitar leaned against one wall or the other just gathering dust when I could be playing it?

Then of course, having found these things again I am reminded that motivation is key. I never went to the gym because I was always tired when I got back from work. I never picked up the bass because I am not in a band, nor am I likely to perform, therefore I have no deadline. I did however write Nanowrimo and have now been offered to write a novel for real. These deadlines I make.

Now, a message to myself; life wise, the deadline I have to make is saturday. Pack up and move and this time, UNPACK FULLY. Find those things you failed to do and do them.

P.

FINAL DAY ONE

So this is the last week before I move again into a new place. It is already feeling strange and I have worked out why.

In Feb 2008, I lost my old flat, my job was looking shaky, my girlfriend and I were breaking up and my health fell through the floor. I had been chewed up and spat out by London and life.

My good friend D. helped me back into London and the amazing support of my friends got me back up. I found a new place to live. My job moved on to more permanent positions, giving me the money I had lacked for what seemed like an age.

I remember sitting in my new, tiny room or on my roof terrace and contemplating my new life. My bonsai tree sat in the window, but sadly didn't survive the move (the type is not good at adapting and being moved). I knew if I was going to survive I would have to adapt.

So in many ways I have adapted and in 2010, I certainly feel it is time to move on. However, I am sad and a tad reluctant because this place, this house, the roof terrace were the first thing I had after my life fell apart in 2008. It was a sign that I could survive, I had hit the bottom and now I was crawling out of the rubble. How could I not feel connected to it?

The roof terrace has always felt like a contemplative place, the sky rolling overhead, the gardens behind the house, quiet away from the main road. Leaning on the railing and thinking the long, long thoughts I do. It was just like when I used to get home from school and look out my back window. I dreamed such big dreams then. I still do, but I no longer expect them to just 'happen' to me I guess.

I moved rooms, when they turned my old room into a kitchen, that was difficult at first, coming home to the roof kicked in and dust all over my things was not easy. But I adapted and even changed my room around to mix things up. Then persuaded a good friend to move in downstairs. Now with that friend we are moving on to somewhere else.

But I will always remember how I was when I came here. A broken man, but also a blank canvas of sorts. I was terrified and small, but I knew even then that new things were possible.

Still, a home is where you hang your hat. 2010, I doff my hat to you ;)

I remember when my lunchtime consisted of carrying a small plastic box into a room FULL of people my age, finding some friends, sitting down and eating things in a specific order. This was of course, my infants school.

Sandwiches, chocolate, crisps, apple. In THAT order and no other order. Drink (fruit juice) could be consumed alongside this. It is true that one day I decided to rebel eat one of my sandwiches, followed by the chocolate. I was immediately pounced on by a dinner-lady who could probably have eaten me and asked just what I thought I was doing. I explained that today I was mixing things up a little. I was told not to EVER AGAIN.

On occasion, my Mum would give me some change to go get a sweet from the lunch ladies. I remember standing there, holding my tiny sports bag (of the size that action man would use on his way to the Gym) and counting out the coins. I would usually choose cake. You can't go wrong with cake.

But of course, there were times when lunchtime was spent away from friends, they had already eaten, the table was full and so on. On those days, in secondary school, I would stare into the lunchbox, imagining it as a strange cold war between the fruit and the crisps. With a huge red plastic partition wall. In those days I spent a lot of time imagining things into games and fantastic other worlds. In those days chocolate was a GOLD bar. So I thought of my stomach in two parts; the part for normal food and the GOLD BULLION SAFE for all the Gold bars I was eating.

In those days the real challenge was finding a place to put your lunchbox first thing in the morning so that you could find it again later. A skill that has helped me in numerous first person shooters since.

In Secondary School things were different. One had a CHOICE. Lunch could either be had in the form room or in the big hall. I will stress now I was never one to dine from dinner ladies. It was a packed lunch all the way for me. This suited me fine as I hated queuing in those days and we never had any money to buy anything from the machine. Snack machines were these mythical things that we hardly ever used. We never had any money to put in them. To begin with I dined with my form, assigned the curious role of 'monitor'. I had essentially to stop others wrecking the room. However, despite being a responsible sort I had no power to do so. I was in a form group who excelled at this kind of rebellion. There was one break spent ill-advisedly in a Design and Technology room.

In time I moved to a different room in a different block to hang out with my friends who were much less destructive. One of my friends designed an elaborate Civilization style game which we could all play. We simply told him our moves and waged war on each other. I published a weekly, often daily roundup called 'The Chronicle'. I got to satirise my peers for the first time in print and everyone was clamouring for the latest edition. I made copies, my mate made copies, we filled it full of our in-jokes and taught our bullies that we didn't give a fig what they thought.

In Sixth form, the first year was spent mainly with M in the quad. For some reason every other friend I had in the college was elsewhere in the Student Association, the smoking area or off getting drunk. So it was just me and M. We chatted about the world, music and life. He always, always kept me grounded and in that place I learned the important lesson.

'There is always someone more f*cked up than you'.

By the time my second year rolled around we were with the in-crowd and the new wing had been built, purely for the canteen. It was there we spent our free hours before class and at lunch.

One day, when the place was rammed, there was no way to move forward I was stuck with a friend Becky. She was like Teri Hatcher in minature; hobbit sized if you will. There was simply no way to get through so I picked her up and CARRIED her, ala Kevin Costner in the Bodyguard, stepping from table to table until we were clear. That got me in trouble but was worth it.

The other place I would always be was the Student Association office. Myself and Bailey ruling the roost. So much of my free time in my second year was spent there it was practically a home away from home.

So then I moved over to university where lunch became a much more nebuloous thing. Lunch could now be taken anywhere and at anytime around lunchtime. The common room was popular, as was Bloomsbury cafe, as was ULU. The best days however were sitting in Gordon Square in the sunshine and feeling so young and alive. When I studied for my Masters I would often eat lunch alone.

Now, at work I spend my lunchtimes reading by myself, usually in cafes but sometimes in the breakout areas and I wonder what (if anything) has changed. I still thing long, long thoughts, though rather than about what toys I was going to play with when I got home or what game we were going to play in the playground I think about the weekend, I think about S, I think about writing and my career. I still gesticulate (sure I no longer make monsters, planes and guns) but I have always been dextrous. I write a lot in my lunchbreaks; novels, poems, missions for larp, tabletop or just nonsense. I look at the sky and the tall buildings. I walk under the blind gaze of Lady Justice.

I wonder when I became a solitary lunchtime guy from those days when the most imperative thing was to sit with friends. We still go out for team lunches but I treasure my lunch breaks now as I did when I was first introduced to them. They are my time, they are when I relax and I do not have to think about work or school. They are too short. Unlike this post. If you have joined me on this journey I hope you remember some of your own stories and enjoy writing new ones.

2010. This year is going to be different.

It seems like a long time since I have updated this blog. I suppose that is due to the following:
-I am very busy
-I have many other places to update my internet prescence
-I have nothing to say (that hasn't been said on the other places)

2010 however seems to be defying my expectations of it. Thus far it has seen opportunity after opportunity present itself. I only hope that I actually get somewhere instead of failing like I always seem to.

Then again, maybe I haven't posted because I am so incredibly tired, yet stay up late doing what I want, cramming as much as I can into my free time. I leave work with a run, sprint around all weekend and come monday I am even more tired than before.

But damn it was worth it.

P.