Pynchon

Restarting the blog has been more difficult than I had imagined it would be.

I was ready to go back online on Friday evening, but visitors (Lorraine's Sister Ellen and Niece Abbie) got in the way. When we have guests visit (or should I say, when Lorraine has guests visit, because you can count on one hand the amount of times I have had people visit me at the house in the 5 years we have lived here - Hi Di! Hi Troy! Hi Sister 1, 3 and my Niece!), I am very conscious that I must try to be a good host. I do what they want to do. I eat what they want to eat. I watch what they want to watch. My Dad used to be a great, larger than life and accommodating host. I am nothing like him, not really, but I want to try to keep up that tradition.

I suppose that not being able to get back online was for the best. I was dreading what I was going to say, because I cannot explain exactly what happened, but something definitely did.

Last Sunday night I decided that I was never going to write again, because it was pointless. I was going to disappear forever. I was going to ignore all emails, comments and queries. I was going to shut the door and go. (Fucking dramatic, yes?)

On Sunday night I was writing away. Not happily writing away, I might add. I was having problems. The post was flat and dull. I couldn't get any words. I wasn't interested, but I felt obligated to write something, because it had been two days.

My feet hurt me. My back hurt me. I had had an argument with Lorraine about sex (again) and lack of communication. My head started to hurt me. I started sweating. I had a prickly feeling in my scalp. I couldn't breathe. I got really angry. Spitting angry. Strangle cat angry. (Moon is still here, by the way.)

... And then I wrote

"I'll tell you what. I've just completely lost interest in this. Nothing to do with "The Prestige". It was one of the best films I have seen this year. It's just me. No more. I've had enough. Not good enough."

I cannot say that it came out of nowhere, because a number of things had been building up, but there was a blackness and a rage and a kind of release.

After I had finished on Blogger,I surfed porn, had an unsatisfactory wank, shut the computer down, went to bed and told Lorraine that I had wanked off because she was a fucking drudge and a prude and that she ought to join a monastery, and that I had decided we may as well finish because I hated her.

It's been a week. It's been a tough week. We are still together. I don't hate her. I love her and I think that she loves me.

I will write more tomorrow. I am running out of time. Sorry.