One thing that is important ‘to me’. This is not about me.
This is ‘hopefully’ not a blog where I relate the me, me, me that nobody is listening to.
This is an attempt to share with you, with our world. If it is successful the me, me, me ramble will inspire, incense or in some way prompt you to post. To interact with me and others because this is what our world ‘needs’.
I recognise at the same time, as much as I do not want it to be, this is about me. My five minutes of fame? My route to recognition? We all want recognition don’t we? Even those of us hiding from contact with others are hiding from fear of recognition born of a lowered self-esteem bred since the egotistical infancy when the world was all about the individual child.
(I do not agree totally with Piaget’s theory of egocentrism. Amongst my reasons for being less than comfortable with the finite details are the child’s language and concept conception. Whilst I agree that development like all topics is fitting for generalisation. I guess, that I really can’t agree that the three mountains testing is sufficiently rigorous.)
So, about me was written as my opening, account (whatever it is termed) page. I am still to work out how to set it as such. Each time I believe that I have, I am wrong. Now I think that it may be set, yet the list of posts is no longer visible. At times I must question my ability to follow instruction, or to just get on and do in a male manner with a total disregard for the instruction manual? Intelligence?
This page will undoubtedly need re-writing regularly. For it to be about me it will often change focus, location and the content that goes with it. Hmm, to be settled…
A few days ago there was a whole lot of the less believable going on in my life. I received a letter telling me that I have six days, expiring Monday the 19th, to leave Switzerland. This points to the post on Il Légal immigration. Yesterday that day passed me by and here we are mid February of the next year!
There was a whole lot to be sorted. I tried filing it in place, filling in the right form, writing the write way with the t crossed and i dotted, and that was only in that particular word. Words failed me. Often. Please remember that this wasn’t and isn’t my mother tongue or any tongue that I could explain my failure to articulate phonetically in. Not to a degree that I felt satisfied with. Inarticulate and inept, invalided and invalidated I took to the hills. One month in the mountains skulking but not sulking I have sailed away on the cross-channel Chunnel.
From there to here I have been. From the reasons behind everything: some reasonable, some ridiculous I must find my next. What that may be time will tell. Explanation? Understanding? Acceptance or self-defensive nonchalance? I wrote a piece yesterday, or was it the day before. Time inspired it and in a shorter time than it took me to save the draft it disappeared. I am back in the UK with stories to tell, well, to write.
The same circumstances however preposterous have been added to and many have lessened in their importance yet they remain and contribute all the same. Today I am in another place. In this place I am surrounded by my own things and that is nice. Many of those things, material possessions and memory generators are missing, awol or mia. It doesn’t matter. Those are memories that may not resurface?Not long arrived I am already not all together comfortable. For some part for those for mentioned reasons. Some for others yet to be explored in type.
As this page stated before, (all by itself as clever pages are apt to do? 😉 discomfort has to be good for personal self-development. For in the cataclysm of contributions it is me, myself and I who at the tender age of forty-five has not managed to settle. Not in a place, not in a job (let alone a career). Neither relationship or a home can I identify with. The most frequent question that I am met with which evokes least comfort as I attempt a concise response, ‘Where are you from?’ has been added to. If there is a question guaranteed to elicit a totally unexpected rant, ask me: “What do you do?”
Previously this read:
My life feels unbelievable. So out of my control that I am tempted to let it just fall. It will be as it will be and the better quality I can make of it, all the better.
It is still unbelievable. I have moved from trying to fit in to no longer giving a flying (fill this with whatever you wish. Preferably something that does not fly).
I have ‘let it just fall’. It is liberating. With the chaos that I leave behind I feel a sense of an outlaw.
Previously this read:
I am a British male living in Switzerland. I’ve relatively recently moved out from two months in the intended direction of forever, living with my girlfriend. It, that, she and many other such pronouns will give you a sense that there remains a lot unsaid. It may remain that way. A couple of posts that I have written here set an outline for our relationship. But (as in most failed romances, be they between two people or the romance one may have with a new-found direction in life such as a career change, I digress, tangents are for another post) there is so much more classic romantic sadness, unbelievable exchanges of difference and genuine comedy that I hope to set to type. Already the pain was pushed aside by an eventual awakening. The ensuing nonchalance may mean that the story joins the many never written. Possibly because, with that genuine disregard for all that was I have lost many details. Time will tell.
Meanwhile I am still processing the continual change in my self-identity. Unemployed for five months. One month into a 30-40 metre fall down a mountain. Recovering from various breaks the most lasting being a metal meccano cage from T4-T11 in my back. Two weeks of eight into daily lessons to improve my French and failing with the verbs, or as my teacher quickly identified: ‘with the rules’.
So here I am, unable to communicate fully, frustrated on many levels and let’s see how well and how fruitfully I can express this.