Happy 2024 you delicious boys and girls.
I’m guessing I’ll get a few new readers to my blog. If this is your first time, I suggest you take a gander at some of the previous ones to familiarize yourself with the lure of the content. If you are one of the regulars, welcome back.
I know it has been a minute, but time is cyclical instead of linear as we are taught in school. Our perception of time is merely the monitoring of decay. So technically the frequency of my blog is either extremely erratic and inconsistent or punctual and right on time.
With that being said, I plan on scheduling my blog within the times designed by the ghost of a two thousand year old carpenter because that is what we are used to.
I have a prose submission today.
It was sent in by the late Matthew Perry of Friends fame. He has sent it down via a shooting star from his position of privilege in purgatory. The reason he is waiting in purgatory is because the Lord wants the full collection from the series and is waiting on the rest of the crew to join him.
Pool Money
In 2012 I bought a swimming pool,
It was on special at the Warehouse in Glenfield,
A retail price of $450 down to $322.
I placed it beside the house,
Between the neighboring fence and the garage,
To surprise my daughter,
She loved it until the day we went to Tom Hanks’ house,
He has a pool too.
But I only earn above ground pool money.
So fuck Tom Hanks.
Thank you for your submission Matthew and may your soul Rest In Peace.
2023 was a good year for me.
Especially with that shit show that the previous three brought.
I have spoken extensively about the then Goblin of Strange and Uncertain Times, better known as Covid 19. Since then I have left that prison job I had, I bought a house and recently got back into a management role with my work. I’m pretty happy with this. I was even able to see my family back in the old country with a holiday in Asia to boot.
I achieved all of this with that existentially anxiety I carried from the last three years, sprinkled in with some PTSD from the prison job and my perpetual battle with depression.
I mostly internalize these mental health issues, but it does come to the fore in one specific way.
I used to be extremely social, I was really good at it. Before Covid, I was out every weekend with people. In summer it was motorcycle riding, in winter it was playing rugby or football. I’m shit at all these activities, but I enjoyed them because I got to hang out with the lads.
After lockdowns and social distancing, I had to train my brain to believe that these urges and desires needed to be quelled and I dove into a severe state of depression.
I recently did a training course which highlighted one’s communication style. On further investigation it also exposes how one interacts with other people as well. My outcome was that I was a Social Butterfly. Ideally one wants to be a Lion or something like this, but I was happy with my lot.
I enjoy being liked, and I love being the one who entertains during human interactions. So why do I wince at the idea of having social interactions with other humans now, even though of late I have developed a toxic parasocial relationship with my cat.
During the days between Christmas and New Year one has a lot of time to reflect, I love those days. You don’t even know what day or time it is. It wasn’t for pay-day I would’ve lost track of existence completely. I spent a lot of time in my own head, as well as up my own ass. Long rides by myself and hours of reading Wikipedia.
I took a selfie once.
It was in the middle of the motorway at Spaghetti Junction on an idle Tuesday at 5pm. I took this picture to show that my Yamaha was the only vehicle on the road on a day that usually has bumper to bumper traffic.
I think I may have got the news of my impending unemployment that day as well.
I genuinely thought that everyone was going to die and only bad things were going to happen.
In my head I was already planning on how I was going to euthanize my family. I know this seems dramatic, but existential anxiety is a real mental health problem. This is the reason police go home and kill their families and then themselves. The fact that I had these kinds of thoughts haunts me even now when I look at my kids.
I grew up in the most dangerous place on earth.
Although I was well protected because of great parents and a familiarity, I hated the fact that humans can be so callous and inconsiderate to their fellow man. I always had my escape planned. I was either going to play football or write books to put myself in a position to leave that place. I failed miserably on both of those attempts and it was my uncanny ability to fix printing machines that gave me a way out.
Then the cunty 2020 happened.
I lost my six figure management job at a Procurement Company and by pure chance ended up in a prison and took on my new persona, a hard man called Shaggy.
There is amazing synchronicity about that nickname, so allow me to digress for a minute.
In 1996 Shaggy of “Oh Carolina” fame came to my neighborhood in South Africa. I wasn’t really a big fan, but I went to see him anyway. He took ages to take the stage at Westgate Mall and the hosts held a look alike contest to kill time.I won without entering. I was just picked from the crowd. I also ride a ZX9R because it was in his “Wasn’t me” music videos. A beautiful coming together of two different situations.
Anyway, I didn’t call myself Shaggy in the beginning.
I’m a big black guy with muscles and an angry resting face. On the surface I was going to be a great officer. I also have the gift of the gab and I was able to talk my way out of all the bad situations that I was able to. A hangover from my youth, where my fear inspired me to excel at de-escalation.
I was in the unit one day and a serial child sex offender decided to throw a punch at me. I had to take him down. This was common with this guy and the other prisoners hated him anyway. None of the prisoners knew my name and one of them yelled “Get him Shaggy”
The name stuck.
During my time as Shaggy, I witnessed so many things. Things that reminded me of the evils I experienced in South Africa. I discovered that even though a person cannot be judged on one aspect of their behavior, both good and evil are innate. Bad behavior is ubiquitous.
I lived in constant fear. A sheep in wolf’s clothing. I had to pretend to be what I looked like. I didn’t tell anyone that I love my family and that my wife is the strongest person in my life. I didn’t say I liked Coldplay and that I play City Building video games instead of GTA. No fucking way I was gonna tell anyone I was trying to get a book published ant that I liked reading poetry. I was a big black guy who didn’t want to fight because he was worried he was going to accidentally gonna kill someone. So he rather uses his words to de-escalate to protect you. All bullshit. I was just scared.
This perceived persona made me climb the stripes ladder pretty quickly. It was all an act.
Then one day the most unfair thing happened.
I was hit from the back from a prisoner I hadn’t been able to butter up yet. He knocked me out and snapped my earlobe clean off the rest of my body. Once I came to, I wanted to ball up and cry, but Shaggy was experiencing this. So I got up and took him down to the ground and restrained him. I watched the footage, it was fucking awesome. I was like Khabib in his prime, but without the ridiculous religious connotations.
After a few weeks and my ear stuck back on, I met the prisoner in a unit. He covered his face as he thought I would seek revenge. I didn’t.
I shook his hand that knocked me out and told him I forgave him. The Manager saw this and I got further praise. “You guys should be like Shaggy” was the order of the day.
Little did they know that this wasn’t Shaggy, this was me being fucking scared that he was going to hit me again.
Even now, especially on motorcycle days. “Hey Shaggy” makes me piss my pants. I was really popular among prisoners in the jail because I enjoyed their stories. I also did them a lot of favors, within legality of course. I still have stacks of notes of well wishes from them, but the fact that my words were unable to help me scares me even now. What if I get hit from the back again without the opportunity to state a case as to why I don’t really want to be physically beaten.
I think that coupled with my gravitational pull towards sadness this is what is making me enjoy time by myself. And I’m genuinely enjoying it. I get to potter about and play a video game I have enjoyed since the 90’s. I feel that I don’t need the social interactions that were so part of my personality a few years ago.
However, there are external concerns about my mental health from those close to me. People are asking if I am pissed off with them for whatever reason. My sports and bike friends have lost their dependance on me. This makes me feel sad, so I sometimes drag myself to join them and put in a begrudging effort.
My life of solitude has a dark side though.
I spend a lot of time distracting myself, I cannot focus at all. I can’t sleep without a podcast or a few Youtube videos. When I talk to people, I actually no longer give a fuck what they have to say.
This ultimately has a negative impact on my ability to be creative. Usually I write my stories based on the experiences of other people as well as my own. If I live like this, my own experiences will be confined to my garage and I also won’t be able to listen to the experiences of other people.
This is devastating, Unless I decide to just stop writing. Then the Quasimoto life will work.
So for 2024, I’m happy that I think I discovered why I feel the way I feel.
But I will seek some Psychotherapy to help me find a path to recovery. There is no shame in this.
That’s enough for this week.
Rub a dog.
Greet a stranger.
Scream affirmations into an empty Fanta bottle.
I will get some affiliate marketing soon so I can make money on this again in a few weeks, but I still have Christmas bonus money left so I cannot be fucked at all this week.
Dog Bless.
