Writing To Reach You

My Dear Princess and Dear Friends,

I'm working from home today. Strangely, now that Aotearoa has reached 90% vaccination levels and restrictions are being eased nationally, more restrictions are being imposed locally. It seems to be part of the transition from pandemic to endemic. Consequently we now have "work bubbles" and today is one of my "non-bubble" days.

Working on my own always makes me go into my own head, which I fill with music. Today it was Belle & Sebastian who I briefly got into about the same time as everyone else. 

(Remember when they beat Steps for the Best New Artist of 1998 or something like that? It was very controversial and made us all go out and buy their album).

Their melancholy indie songs remind me of a relatively melancholy time in my life. I used to put The Boy With The Arab Strap into the CD player on my clunky old PC and listen to it over and over while surfing the net in my little flat on Montrose Terrace. This is post-Soozle and pre-Caro so we are looking at late 98/early 99. 

Other CDs that were on regular rotation back then were, Left of the Middle by Natalie Imbruglia, White On Blonde by Texas, This Is My Truth Tell Me Yours by The Manic Street Preachers, 2.0 by Garbage, Urban Hymns by The Verve and OK Computer by Radiohead.

Which should tell you something about my mood.

I spent a LOT of time looking at that screen and looking for something or other and not finding it there. It was a very lonely time and I struck up a lot of unsuitable internet friendships with people I had nothing in common with. Other than the "lonely" part. 

You may remember Rosie the Canadian. She came to visit me in Edinburgh and I later visited her in Toronto. She was lovely but literally as soon as I met her I realised I'd been projecting a personality onto this online person that she didn't have. I mean, she really was very nice but we had literally zero to talk about. 

It was then I realised you can look so hard for something that you can conjure it where it doesn't exist. 

There was also Pammie. Fortunately I did no conjuring there. She was another Canadian with whom I had nothing in common, and I knew this but she was at least funny and interesting. I also met her in Toronto because she happened to be going to some feminist music festival in Guelph* at the same time as my holiday. 

And then there was Debbie, who was an ex-porn actress in her late 50's from San Francisco who loved movies and drew cartoons. So I had more in common with her, except the porn actress part. I spent an inordinate amount of time chatting to these three people online. And playing PC games.

The only respite from this were the nights out, of which there were a lot. It seems to me that we sublimated our frustrations of the RX project with a LOT of drinking. I recall it was at least every Friday, and oftentimes I would meet up with people Saturday/Sunday too. 

Given my current tolerance for alcohol (shockingly low) I have a hard time believing how much I used to drink and be drunk and recover so quickly. Ah, twenty-nine year old livers. What I'd give for one now.

Of course that also led to my pursuing unsuitable people for unsuitable relationships, the memory of which makes me shake my head at myself. I recall Auslaender saving me from making one, possibly two, terrible mistakes. 

Thank you Fat Pete. 

In fact, it was Fat Pete and Mad Dog who got me through those self-destructive times. Looking back, every act seemed like an act of desperation or avoidance. I remember sitting on that bloody laptop, staring out over the rooftops over to London Road and the people going up and down and just wanting to meet someone who thought I was at least ok. I knew they were out there somewhere.

I went to all sorts of random parties and did so many things that were just not me. It was a very odd time in my life. 

And I suppose this is the part of the story when I should say that it didn't work but I learned how to be at peace with myself. But in fact it DID work and eff that inner peace malarkey.

Because summer 1999 was when I met Caro. Actually, while I was on that holiday in Toronto, she was cat-sitting for me, having just come into the picture. She didn't fix me. In fact we were as messed up as each other back then. I think at some point we must have fixed each other because I don't feel broken any more. 

I remember on our first date, I played her The Man Who, the new album by up-and-coming band Travis. This was in order to impress her, not knowing at this point that she much preferred ABBA and The Eagles. "The Man Who" was another CD that went into my PC and got played and played and played. 

Of course, with Caro came HEAPS of friends and loads of connections, many of which I still enjoy. And as I've got older and cared less, I guess I DID come to terms with who I am. Or at least, give less of an eff what people think, which is the same thing I feel.

Bizarrely, this has made it yet easier to make those connections I craved back in the day.

All the same, listening to those songs today, I wondered if I'm still looking desperately for friendships. Looking to other people to drown out that sad little melancholy effer who is still my head. Somewhere.

If so, then "thank you". Because mostly it has worked.

S.

* Also the noise I make when suffering from gastro.