Valley of the Trolley Dollies

 

 

 

 

Ah, the joys of being ever so slightly Bi-Polar. Or, as people of my parent’s generation would have referred to it, ‘Miserable as sin’. Everything is ticking along nicely then, creeeeeeeeeek, crash, BOOM, and it’s all dark and it’s all too much to deal with, and everything - even words of kindness - are met with a snarl and a sneer that just provides more fuel for the festival of self-hatred that will follow either just before the end of the depression or just after it.

 Whatever… The weekend was great: Friday with Toby turned out to be less than successful. His trip to see his first ever Rock Concert (McFly! at Wembley!!!) had to be abandoned when he went ever so slightly hysterical during the period between the support act and the main band. Too much - too dark, waaaaaaaaay too loud, too many flashing lights, too crowded, too noisy. But you know what? We still spent time together. We still had the most fun on the way home playing flick hockey with a lid from a carton of M&M’s (and for future reference, T, I let you win), and the whole thing - including his remorse that I was missing ‘the best concert ever’ because of him (”No, you’re alright, Tobe. It’s so not my scene anyway!!”) was so sweet I could have wept.

Saturday was productivity on ice: Finished sorting out the unofficial wedding photies (expect to see them here very soon. No, really. What?) did lots of chores at home, fixed the car. Yes! I, the reknowned homosexualist FIXED. THE. CAR. Well, I fixed the windscreen wash, not exactly a full strip down and rebuild, but still an achievement for me… put stuff on the iPOD, read, relaxed, felt great.

Saturday night, The Uber Dollies called from Barcelona, where they were seeing the opening night of George Michael’s 25live tour. Was I jealous? Is the pope an old Nazi? Does the Ayatollah have nary a trace of foreskin? What do you think? I was g-r-e-e-n with e-n-v-y. I grew up with George Michael. Not literally - we didn’t go to the same school, or anything. But his music was a big part of my life. Clarify that - HIS music: I wasn’t wild about early WHAM! Really started to like them when the second album came out and I heard stuff like ‘Everything She Wants’ and ‘ Credit Card Baby’ shiny, glossy, magpie pop with ice cold synths or brittle horn arrangements and lyrics about the futility of consumerism and the desperate things that men will do to keep the object of their desire within range. It sounded grown up and cosmopolitan and compassionate and glamorous and a million other things that I wasn’t and didn’t ever think I’d get to be.

Sunday, seemed fine, then, late afternoon, it happened: Just a little sadness. But by yesterday, in the palace of earhtly delights known as Capitalist Bastard Bank, the first tinkling notes of the overture had turned into a symphony of doom and darkness.  Like Toby in the arena, I felt like everything was tooo much: The world, my life, everything, was too dark, too loud, too many flashing lights, too crowded, too noisy. I started looking for reasons to be fed up. A dreadful thought hit me: What if nothing else comes along? What if I’m stuck here in a job I am beginning to hate for ever? And then I realised that, in the grand scheme of things, It doesn’t really matter: I have my health, my loved ones, and I can survive this - it’s hardly a concentration camp. But something will come along, because something always does.

That said, my headhunter tells me that CitiBank (whilst keen) are in the middle of a hiring freeze (as mentioned by Captain Canuck a week ago), but I’m still in with three of my preferred houses, (Merrill Streep, The People who financed the Anschluss, and La Maison du Cuckoo clock makers).

And the things that are coming along soon(ish) include: A trip to see ‘Cabaret’ tomorrow night. A honeymoon to New Zealand and Australia next February. An all-gay cruise of the Baltics (More Ball, one hopes, and less Tics) next July (my 39th birthday). A trip to see Will Young this coming Sunday. A trip to a Feis (If you’re not Irish, look it up), the International Sushi Awards on October 24th (That, I assure you, is not a pisstake. They give awards. For Sushi. Forget a Blog Post, there’s got to be a book proposal in that).Spamalot. Wells carnival (If you’re not from the West Country, look it up. It’s like Disney’s nighttime parade. But with more lightbulbs. And temperatures below zero). The Scissor Sisters and Elaine Paige (not on the same stage. How gay would that be?) Christmas Chez Nous. The Royal Variety Performance, the German’s trip to the UK with Theatre and Ballet excursions already booked, my parent’s trip to stay with us for at least one of those concerts, and, as of an hour ago, BEST. SEATS. IN. THE. HOUSE. FOR. GEORGE. MICHAEL. IN. LONDON.

And a promise that, after I get home from the gym tonight, and we watch the last two episodes of ROME on dvd, D and I can play my favourite game: ‘The Rough Gladiator and the naughty slave’…

Am I excited? Is this the opposite side of Bi-Polar? Am I, maybe, tring to buy my way out of a complex chemical neurological sequence?

Probably. But I’m happy. Can we just focus on that for now? Now, where did I leave me trident?

This entry was posted on Tuesday, September 26th, 2006 at 2:36 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.