Just be thankful it’s not poetry

Nostalgia is a powerful weapon for many reasons, not least of which the way it conjures up the memory of a feeling. It brings back the emotions, the state of mind you associate with that time, with that place, with the person you were back then. But this isn’t a feeling I was nostalgic for. This isn’t the version of me I want to remember. These aren’t emotions I want to feel.

I can wish the hurt away all I want, but that’s not going to do anything. All I can do is accept what’s done is done and get on with it. It’s not been easy dealing with uncertainty over the last week-and-a-bit, but at least now I know. Knowing is half the battle, after all. And from there, I can move on. Progress. Make decisions. Keep going.

The fact I’m trying to be calculating, logical and constructive cannot and should not hide the fact that I am hurting right now. More than I ever have done. I can dwell on this – and I’m sure I will, especially in my lower (drunker) moments. But that’s not who I want to be and it’s not what I want to do. The person this emotional nostalgia is reminding me of would have stamped their foot and threatened to hold their breath until they died because they couldn’t get their way. I don’t like that guy. I don’t want to be him. And I won’t be him.

So I’m going to do my best to draw a line under this and keep going. I wouldn’t consider it moving on – just keep going. I don’t expect I’ll be easy to get along with (no change there, ho ho) in upcoming days, weeks or even months – just keep going. And while I do still love the person that’s made me feel like this, I’m not stupid enough to think I can change their mind – just keep going.

What the fuck would I do if I stopped, anyway?

The day papier mache head-based comedy died

Frank Sidebottom did not have a huge impact on my life.  If I were to claim he did, I would just be a grief-stalking nonsense-spouter of the highest order. One of those people who claims he was best mates with someone/listened to all their music/rated them as an actor just because they’re now dead. No, the impact Sidebottom had on my life was minimal – it was there, but it was minimal. I was aware of the man from a young age, I heard a couple of his songs, I forgot he existed through the nineties and most of the noughties, then he popped up on VideoGaiden and I remembered again. From that point, he would pop up in my head, reminding me of how you can be genuinely, wonderfully silly and not be written off by idiots at large as ‘wacky’ or ‘for students’. But, truth be told, that’s about all the impact he had on my life.

So why am I really rather sad that he died yesterday? I don’t give two shits about when celebrities pop their clogs – at least, not above a basic, human level. They’re people I don’t know, dying. That’s it. The only time in recent memory a famous person has died and it had a real effect on me was Kurt Vonnegut, a few years ago (I had to go for a sit down upstairs. That was fucking sad). So why has a man I never really paid too much heed to while he was alive managed to make me a bit glum by dying? I don’t get it.

Maybe it’s just because there’s one less truly original, shit-in-a-good-way, entertaining, happy, papier mache-headed idiots out there. Which means there are now none. The species is extinct. That’s always something to be sad about.

Oh, and read this for a better account of him.