I don’t exist when you don’t see me

I have had, among the many misfortunes that befall me, two that stand out. The first would be having to use Windows Vista on a laptop.

Hardly a hardship, all things considered. (But I don’t need to consider all things, so your comparisons of hardship breakdown.) Even so, how do people use it? Either at work or at play? Why spend your time fighting against the OS? Seems a bit pointless to me. Then again, I am not an example than can be extrapolated out that far.

Secondly, I watched a film on commercial television. The horror of having such a horrible experience broken up by advertising culture. Showing me the life I don’t have, comparing what I have and what I am with their ideal. I had thought of making this post about those two things, but I won’t. Modern life? Who needs that.

There are far more important things than what the chattering classes would have you believe.

I broke the ground yesterday, toiling with the aim of coaxing growth from the earth. Preparation and planning. No instant gratification, none of the immediate thrills on offer if only I were thinner/younger/different/stronger/cleverer/richer. And all that will happen in the end is something which I could have obtained with less effort, less time and less hassle. A trip to Waitrose gives the same end result (although that is debatable, as Cassandra now detests shop bought tomatoes, compared to the ones we grew), but not the same benefits. (cf Our kids are poor half way down. At least, I hope by children are happy. I try my best, but I am but mortal and eminently grumpy. All the literature says by this point, what I have done in the past is all that matters, as their peer groups take over. I think I have given them a good foundation, and now they can make their own mistakes. Mostly. I haven’t passed on parental responsibility just yet.)

Do people move in a world where their girlfriends are that bendy? Where their wives have skin that great? (Well, that box I can tick.) Where their jobs afford them time to be part of some subculture that is at one stroke rebellious yet in need of serious capital injections? Sometimes I wish I had had a trust fund. Everything, for all it is, that I have, I have worked for. Both material, familial and spiritual. I have my family with me, unlike some, but hopefully that will resolve itself soon. Else Mr. Stabby (and the clue bat) will be used again. I have no issues with using either against The State.

Am I jealous of the lifestyles that others inhabit? Sure, I wish I had the time to practice more, to read more, to learn more, to be more, but who has that time? The only meaning of life is more life, and once my children escape my overbearing and exacting clutches, then maybe I can be more. But time has passed, and time passes, and chances and times have passed. In the eyes of the world, at least. And I need not be validated by that.

Who would I rather be? Sir Gerald or Willie Garvin? A gentleman’s club with plush leather arms chairs, port and pipes or second-hand cars and one good coat? I say it like I have a choice. I know where I am, where I will be and what I can be.

Bitter? You bet. Do I care? Not in the slightest. I just move myself one step perpendicular to the world.

All that over one advert by some anonymous Asian electronics company pimping a compact camera. Psychorambling nonsense. Pay no heed. I know you don’t, but don’t. I work things through in my own head. This space is for me. You are welcome to join it, but don’t take it as a plea for help, a cry for attention, a shout for bendyness. Well, maybe that.

And you may tell yourself, this is not my beautiful wife