Short-term Detachment

Hi there!

As the title of my first post may suggest this blog has been born from the fact that a lot of my brain activity happens away from my immediate surroundings.  The mild dissociation isn't helped by the array of objects I have strewed across my desk - goods stolen from the stationary cupboard and my quota of 'personal items' do little to inspire creative thought, neither does the piercing glare from the two computer monitors I find my one good eye staring into; the other is currently bloodshot and has been nervously twitching all day causing the woman sat opposite me to read my involuntary tick as some sort of come on...  eeew!!!

Anyway, I've been thinking a lot about my childhood today and the influence of growing up with an older sister, or rather, not growing up with a brother.  After hearing a friends story of how he and his younger brother would chase each other around the house trying to ensnare one another's genitalia in the business end of a high-powered vacuum cleaner, I wondered what other laddish tomfoolery I may have missed out on.

As my family is devoid of brothers, uncles, grandfathers and such the only male figure I had as a role model growing up was my father, but as our relationship was comparable to one you might have with a total stranger it was soon apparent my destined greatness would only be suppressed should I yield to his way of thinking.  My mother's attempt at filling the role of both parents was admirable, but somewhat limited by the uncontrollable rage my genes (red heads are a fiery sub-species) / hormones / arrogant sense of entitlement gave me, so it was down to my friends to provide the testosterone fuelled interaction a growing boy needs in his evolution to manhood.

Making friends wasn't always easy, up until my mid-twenties my appearance provided more than enough ammunition for even the most lackadaisical bully to bring me down in a hail of verbal or physical abuse and the years I spent forging a shield from my witty sense of humour proved a necessary defensive tool.  It wasn't long before I found my talent for self-deprecation wasn't limited to relieving tension and providing laughs for others, but that it could also be used for evil and soon became my weapon of choice when I needed to go on the offensive.  

How the tables have turned!

There I was, this fully formed personality disorder, a chameleon able to blend into both the IT crowd and take part in dustbin jousting or hand out atomic wedgies without being starred at like I didn't belong.  But this newly discovered self-confidence only  fuelled my high-handed swagger.  I missed no opportunity to psychologically torment the outsiders I used to call my own in a blatant effort to gain more friends and become 'popular', whatever that meant?!?   

You eventually find out who your real friends are, the ones who stick around providing light in your darkest times, never afraid to tell it to you straight.  I've come to appreciate a hard truth after hearing far too many comforting lies and these days my old school chums only appear to me as electronic copies via one of the endlessly fashionable social media sites such as Twatter or MyFace, each keeping me updated with attention craving status updates and enough game invitations to drive a man to lunacy.

Anyway, I'd like to end by dedicating this first post to Ian Miles; the skinny, greasy-haired, buck-toothed, mono-browed bastard I spent many a lunchtime driving to tears in secondary school.  You turned out to be one of my best friends and taught me never to judge a book by its cover, or person by their face...

...Whatever, I'm sorry x

In other news, I've ingested vast amounts of coffee today.  Looking at my height x weight / 5 mugs of coffee and 100 grams (that's 3.5oz) of chocolate covered coffee beans = enough caffeine to kill a small rhino.

Soon my heart will explode.  Farewell loyal followers...