It doesn’t take a lot to set me off on a depressive downer, and one of the things that really gets me down is being prevented from working. A workaholic is no different to an alcoholic in that you feel withdrawn and anxious if the source of your addiction is taken away from you. I had to record The Sunday Alternative podcast today which was a priority, plus I had to update my blog, post a newsletter, and generally go under the bonnet of my website to update it a little. My blog isn’t really work in the truest sense although I am aware that people pay to read it on Kindle or make donations using the PayPal button. These plans, along with an intention to do some research for The Shoebox Demos, all went to shit because my Internet connection went off and showed no signs of returning. This sort of thing really tests me and it is at times like this that I start to question my life. Am I cursed? Am I naturally unlucky? Why do I bother trying to maintain this career when I am seemingly destined to stay where I am on the lower rungs of the ladder? I’m further up the ladder in Nottingham than I am in the rest of the country (The Sunday Alternative has got my name kicked around in London and various other places) but overall I am still in the LDV Vans League when I should surely be in the Premiership by now. When something happens such as my Internet fucking up I take it as a sign that I am wasting my time and I should never have even started down this career path and start to feel worthless and suicidal, wondering if I’ll even be missed if I step under a speeding lorry or just go for a walk and keep walking, never to return.

Deep down I know (without wishing to sound arrogant) that I am talented enough to carry off what I do. I am good at radio presenting (although I don’t have two radio shows to rub together at the moment, this time last year I had three), and I am a good writer but I want more from my life. It is the setbacks that pray on my mind more than the successes though, and even when I’m successful I don’t appreciate it at the time. This is the guy who pulled the plug on an American radio show and turned down the chance to return to live radio, the only thing I am really good at doing.

Maybe I over think things when times get a little trying, for example last week in Skegness when I thought it was my fault that it rained on the one day I took a weekday off from working to go to the coast. While we were in Skegness we walked past two gypsies selling lucky charms of some description (heather I imagine) and did our best to ignore them. Almost immediately after that happened, (if it had been a film it would be the next scene) I walked into a public toilet and slipped on the wet floor hurting my hand. When I met Mandi outside the toilet and told her what had happened she asked if I wanted to follow them and buy something lucky from them, we never saw them again, I imagined that as soon as I fell to the ground they disappeared in a cloud of smoke, laughing maniacally as they went.

Again, perhaps I am over thinking, but I thought back to my marriage. This was not a happy time for me as I was married to a control freak who didn’t want me to succeed. I imagine that deep down she knew that if I did gain any kind of recognition in my chosen career then I would with that recognition gain the passport out of our marriage that I yearned for. Her paranoia that I would leave her blew up in her face when I finally did get it together to leave. (I can fully understand why abused spouses don’t just leave as people who have never been in that situation suggest as if it is the easiest thing in the world to do). My wife was into tarot cards, something I have never understood nor ever involved myself with. That’s not to say I don’t believe what they say, it’s just that they have never told me anything as I have never asked. Could she have put a curse on me as revenge for finally walking out of her metaphorical prison? It stands to reason that someone who spent our whole marriage trying to prevent me from having a career would carry on that work as an act of revenge.  I’ve said before that the reason I work so hard and try to cram so much in is because I am trying to claim back the time I lost, either I’m not working hard enough to conquer her curse or she has allowed me the false sense of security by allowing me a small amount of success while at the same time denying me the chance to reach my full potential and killing myself is the only way that I can fight back with the biggest “fuck you” possible.

Or, maybe once the Internet is fixed I’ll be fine.

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