The Latest Addiction to Bite the Dust.

Tonight I was torn between making a post entitled The Wrong Reasons to Get Married or one called The Latest Addiction to Bite the Dust. I decided on the latter, so here it is.

I've had several addictions during the course of my life -- assuming addiction may may be taken as synonymous with monomania, which, for the sake of simplicity, I think it may -- and most of them have gone the way of the Dodo for one reason or another.

My first major addiction was to fishing, but I gave that one up for ethical reasons. I was also addicted for much of my life to meat dishes in all their delectable forms -- especially roast turkey drumsticks at Christmas -- but I gave that one up also for ethical reasons. And then there was my addiction to romantic assignations. That one had to go because my parameters were narrow and inviolate, and various factors -- too numerous and personal to relate here -- forced me to the view that it was no longer allowable. The addiction to photography was one of the strongest of all, but economic factors beyond my control poured too much water on it and the fire was inevitably extinguished. The writing of fiction took possession of my heart, mind, and time for about ten years, but at last I ran out of stories to create. (The act of writing itself, however, still seems to be holding station, as evidenced by this little blog of mine.)

And now for the sad confession: I seem to have become addicted to YouTube, especially at night, and I think it will have to go. Part of the reason is that too little of it captures my interest these days. Too much  is either trivial, fake, or comprises the ludicrous excesses of far out, new age speculation presented as fact. But the other factor involved is that my ageing computer doesn't like it, and is wont to throw serious tantrums if I expose him to more than he can tolerate -- which isn't very much. You might ask why I don't just get a new computer. The answer to that is surprisingly long and involved, but includes the fact that my old computer is my best friend. I talk to him,  you know, and he's remarkably adroit at behaving sympathetically to my mood. And so I might ask: 'When Beethoven was becoming deaf and forgetful, did he blame his piano and throw it out?' You may decide whether or not to consider that proposition rational.

You might have noticed that I've made no mention of my addiction to smoking. That was intentional because smoking is, to me, far more than the simple addiction to nicotine. It warrants a post all to itself, and maybe I'll write it one day. Or maybe I won't.

One of Life's Little Talking Points.

I watched a video a couple of nights ago in which a man who has been studying the phenomenon of precognition for many years said that it's actually far commoner than people imagine. He believes it's something beyond mere coincidence, and also said that it commonly occurs in dreams. But how can we know?

Let's say that there's someone you haven't encountered in several months, either in dreams or waking reality, and then one night you dream about meeting them unexpectedly. The very next day that person drives past you in their car. It happened to me last night and this morning. Was that precognition or an interesting coincidence? What's the difference? How do you decide what is 'beyond mere coincidence,' and if you do so decide, does it indicate something meaningful which it would benefit you to know? Or does the universe produce patterns which are occasionally visible in everyday experiences?

And isn't the same true of synchronicity? I'd love to know more about Carl Jung and why he apparently laid such emphasis on that particular phenomenon.

YouTube Fooling the Foolish..

I started to compile a list of YouTube videos which I skip as a matter of course without giving them a second thought. The list includes:

Near Death Experiences: Quote: 'I went to heaven and met God, Jesus, an angel, or whatever, and he told me...' Is this the most dishonest form of preaching?

Almost every video I encounter which includes the adjective 'horrifying; or 'terrifying' because I can be almost certain that nothing in the video will warrant such adjectives.

 

Descriptions emphasising numbers, such as 'If you have seven of these character traits, you are definitely...' Life is never that simple.

So-called IQ tests. 'If you get nine answers correct you have an IQ above 150.' A real IQ test takes at least an hour and is strictly timed. I know this because I took MENSA's test. 

 

All  videos which include the words 'what they don't want you to know.' Obvious clickbait to attract simpletons. Yes, I'm sure there are hidden agendas and the like, but they need a better introduction than that.

Those videos which have a thumbnail of one or more persons having fun in a perilous situation, followed by the hint that you're going to watch this person or people die. I've no doubt they are all AI-generated, and what right-minded person wants to watch somebody die anyway?

The revenge video: 'My aggressive boss fired me unreasonably, not knowing I was the CEO of the company working undercover.' Why are people so drawn to revenge, even if it's obviously fake?

Dishing the dirt: A celebrity, usually of longstanding, names the five famous actors he/she hated the most because they were horrible people. Merely childish.

Videos claiming to show real pictures of real ghosts. A little girl dressed in all white on a lonely road at night. These are the most easily faked and most obviously fraudulent, and yet they attract a huge number of views.

In fact, most of these videos attract a huge number of views when they're not actually worth any at all. What on earth are some people made of? If I find more, and I'm sure there are plenty, I might make it a series.

A Nothing Post.

So, what should I write about tonight? Nothing? OK, nothing it is because the day has been nothing if not desultory. I'm only taking short walks at the moment because the chill winds, the unremittingly grey skies, and the resultant low light are keeping my spirits inward looking. Tonight we expect a storm to come through overnight and through the morning.

And the short perambulations have produced only two bits of news of note: Two of the fields in Church Lane have now been ploughed but not raked and sown, and a man in a passing car stopped and asked whether I'd encountered any sheep on the road. I hadn't.

Will that do?

Evenings.

Topping up the bird feed table at twilight, braced against a wind which feels almost ice-cold after the glorious warmth of summer.

Feeling downcast at the approach of winter and wondering whether I have one more summer left to me.

Closing the curtains against the deep darkness of windows laden with the unwholesome wetness of condensation. I have a particular dislike of condensation, probably because it says 'your room is not warm enough to dissipate me.'

Dragging myself out of a state of torpor in order to wash the dishes and vacuum my office and the kitchen, the two rooms in which I spend most of my time.

Trying to think of something about which to write a blog post because, little though it matters, no other activity seems to matter much at all.

Feeling the need of feminine company, but only if her mind matches mine, she greatly enjoys autumn garden clearance work, and she doesn't want to live with me.

Being pleased that at least I'm not hungry, nor busy trying to find a less draughty shop doorway in which to spend the night.

I suppose that will do.

Two Astronomical Notes.

I've often thought it must be interesting to live on the equator and have only two seasons -- summer and spring/autumn -- instead of four as the rest of us get. Although I suppose you could argue that they do have a short spring and a short autumn but they would be effectively identical.

 

And only tonight I became aware of the fact that the point of sunrise at the summer solstice is diametrically opposite the point of sunset at the winter solstice. And now I'm trying to work out a reason to find such knowledge useful.

What's In a Given Name?

As a boy I never liked my forename. I always thought the name Jeffrey -- or even its more traditional form, Geoffrey -- sounded weak. When a nurse at the hospital asked for my preferred name so she could write it on the white board behind my bed, I suggested Buggerlugs. She declined and wrote nothing in the end, which is how I became a nameless bed dweller which did little for my ego. But to continue:

I don't see why I should regard Jeffrey as weak because it has perfectly reasonable antecedents. According to my research it's a branch of the German name Gottfried, which became Godfrey in England and Geoffroi in France. And the father of the English king Henry II -- the first king of the Angevin dynasty -- was a French nobleman called Geoffroi d'Anjou, which is how I've always assumed it came to England as Geoffrey. So if the name came from a nobleman, and considering the fact that mediaeval noblemen were generally violent thugs, there seems little reason to consider it weak. But I still do.

And incidentally, my full name at birth was Jeffrey Godwin, which is interesting because both names translate roughly to something like 'friend of God.' I suspect some mischievous influencer up in the rarefied realm was having a joke.

In any event, tonight I decided -- for the first time in my life -- that I would like to be called Stig.

A New Experience.

I just had a strange and unnerving experience, but to begin at the beginning:

I was woken early this morning by the builder racketing about on the roof. I had transport booked to do the grocery shop so I got up and started the day. Tonight the lack of sleep made me tired, and so I laid my head on the desk and fell asleep.

When I woke up my mood had taken a journey to an unfamiliar depth which is difficult to describe but I'll give it a go. I felt alone, cold, and depressed. Nothing new there -- I'm quite familiar with that one -- but there was something else which I can only describe as feeling as though I was on the edge of literal lifelessness. I don't remember ever having gone quite that far down before, and the word 'wretched' does it scant justice.

And so I sat at my desk with the thermometer falling for about an hour until I decided something had to be done. I loaded YouTube and watched a video made by a Norwegian explorer in which he goes into the Paris catacombs with a guide. It was surprisingly scary because the catacombs are unlit, labyrinthine, flooded in parts, and much of it is un-mapped. The scariness was enough to banish the feeling of near-lifelessness and I made a cup of hot coffee.  Salvation of sorts, I suppose.

No doubt somebody will know just what chemical which should be plentiful in my brain is sadly lacking, and probably tell me that I must eat a guava fruit every day. Or maybe give up the scotch and eat lemons instead. Fine, but I think I'd rather be alone, cold, and depressed. And I'm only making this post because my new-found vigour told me I should DO something. So now I have. Bye for now.

Feeling Unwelcome.

I mentioned in a recent post that my bedroom doesn't feel welcoming any more. I noticed tonight that the house itself doesn't feel welcoming either. I get the impression that I'm living in an alien space which is sentient and doesn't want me here. In short, it doesn't feel like home. Why should that be, I ask myself?

Well, the simple and rational explanation is that at this time of year my house feels cold and damp. The fact that it feels cold is because it is cold, and that's because heat is expensive and I'm not rich. But it isn't actually damp. The humidity indicator in my office is giving me 40% which is nicely in the middle of the acceptable range for a domestic dwelling. I think the damp feeling is purely psychological because the sensation of dampness naturally holds court in the mind with the feeling of coldness.

So is it all a product of my imagination? Maybe, probably, but who knows? All I know is that I feel unwanted here, and the feeling is the main thing, isn't it? At least it is to me. At the same time, I mentioned in an earlier post that I suspect that this house has some darkness in its history, so maybe there's some residual energy thing going on.

 

And by the way, I am aware that I'm privileged to have a roof over my head at all in this imperfect world. And so I am.

Am I boring you?

Gloom and Other Thoughts.

The Shire wasn't it's usual self today. I expect it was feeling poorly due to a turn in the weather. After weeks of cool, but dry and bright, conditions following the long warm summer, today brought a change from major to minor. The sky was unremittingly dark and heavy, suffocating the land and all who moved upon it. Showers of light rain dampened the roads and left the trees and hedgerows dripping with unaccustomed wetness, and my shuddering thoughts went back to that favourite line of mine from Tennyson: The wan day went glooming down in wet and weariness. The lunchtime walk usually lifts my spirits, but not today.

 

*  *  *

I was pleased to read that the citizens of Alberta have voted not to secede from Canada. Canadians are generally a pretty canny crowd, so it was no surprise. And it reminded me of being asked a question on a TV quiz show once: 'What is the capital of the Canadian province of Alberta?' Although it must have been around thirty years since I'd learned about the geography of Canada in high school, my memory did me proud. 'Edmonton,' I replied. Correct. I searched the eyes of my fellow competitors for signs of reluctant admiration, but sadly found none.

 

*  *  *

The Lady B said to me in a blog comment many years ago: 'I thought you had forgotten about me.' Well, I'm often struck by the thought that I would like to talk to said Lady at least once more before I take the big leap, just so that I can tell her, in all honesty, that never does a day go by but that think of her. Never. She has no reason to care one way or the other now, of course, but I occasionally listen to Loreena McKennitt's song The Never Ending Road -- as I did today -- and it always reminds me of her. Sometimes it even encourages a mysterious attack of dampness to gather around my eyeballs. I've no idea what it is.