Less than 10 metres away

Posted on 21 August 2011 by blackandblueman

WARNING
The following post describes an accident that some readers may find upsetting.
As well, there is language that some readers may find offensive.

Every Friday and Sunday night whenever possible, I like to have dinner at a particular restaurant here in Sydney

I first visited this restaurant in the late 1990s, and for a few years afterwards I went there once or twice a year. In the mid-2000s it moved to its current location near Darling Harbour, and since then my visits increased for several reasons – I began eating out more in general; I liked the ambience, value for money and quality of food, and the pleasant staff have always treated me well.

For a long time I went there once a week, but during the past year I increased my visits to twice a week. During the past few months, though, I often went three or four times a week – I was stuck in a project from hell at work in a couple of offices not far from the restaurant, and after yet another frustrating and tiresome day it was both convenient and therapeutic to go there and unwind for a few hours.

The restaurant is about 30 minutes walk across the Sydney CBD from where I live, and even in the shittiest weather I’ll still go there. For me, it’s a place worth making that effort for, and for three hours or so I can focus on just eating, reading, surfing the net and sometimes writing posts for Black and Blue Man.

Last night was my most recent visit there, and one of the most rewarding – because not only did it help me unwind after witnessing something very distressing while travelling there, but an extra gesture by the staff was greatly appreciated.

*

Friday, 19 August 2011.

At 5:33pm, I left home to begin that evening’s journey to the restaurant.

That afternoon it had rained on and off, so as insurance I carried my umbrella in my hand instead of in my backpack.

A few minutes later, I was heading north-west down the stretch of Oxford Street that leads to its intersection with Crown Street. Night had fallen, there were bright lights everywhere and Oxford was flooded with pedestrians and traffic rushing in both directions eager to get home or have a night on the town.

As I approached the north-east curb of Oxford and Crown, I heard music coming from diagonally-opposite across the intersection – and when I looked that way, I saw a guy with a guitar singing into a microphone within the small Pie Face eatery near the south-west curb. I smiled – that was the fun sort of thing that Pie Face would do.

A moment later, I walked past a young woman who handed me a flyer, and I smiled again as I saw that if I took that flyer to Pie Face tonight, I could get a free coffee or mini-pie.

Grabbing a mini-pie from there later tonight just before I got home was very appealing, and I tucked the flyer into my shirt pocket.

A moment after that, I halted at the north-west curb of Oxford and Crown where the lights on Crown were changing from green to yellow.

The southeast-bound traffic on Crown had already halted, and someone who looked like a dark-haired young man was already halfway across to where the northeast-bound lanes were empty. Many times during the past 10 years or so I’d done the same crossing-against-the-lights when the coast was clear, but tonight I was content to take my time and wait until WALK turned green –

Suddenly, a northeast-bound white sedan shot past on Crown.

Less than 10 metres away from where I was standing, the sedan hit the dark-haired young man with a loud thump near the centre of Crown.

The young man crumpled limply around the front right fender of the white sedan, and then hurtled aside and out of sight behind the first southeast-bound cars waiting at the lights.

The white sedan also vanished, although I don’t know if it continued on or pulled over.

For a moment, time stopped indeed.

My mind raced as I wondered what was the best thing to do.

Across Crown, where WALK was now green, two people were rushing across the now-empty crossing to where I presumed the young man was lying on the road out of my sight.

That helped me decide what to do.

I grabbed my iPhone, looked for the nearest shop doorway and raced inside, where I then dialed 000 and asked for an ambulance.

The operator connected me to the appropriate phone-line, and it rang.

I began pacing back and forth.

The phone kept ringing.

I kept pacing back and forth.

The phone kept ringing.

Why the hell was it taking so long to get through?!?

Suddenly the operator came back on, apologised for the busy line and connected me to another line.

It rang a few times, and then another operator answered me.

I told her where I was, what I’d seen and requested an ambulance.

The second operator mentioned that there had already been two calls about what I’d witnessed, although those calls had reported that a woman had been hit.

I spent the next minute or so to-ing and fro-ing from the shop doorway to back inside where it was less noisy as I tried to verify the second operator’s requests for further details – but apart from about five or six people who had gathered around where I presumed the young man or woman was still lying on Crown, I couldn’t see anything else.

Finally, the second operator asked if I had been enroute past the scene, and as I told her yes but that I could stay and wait if required I began to stammer.

She thanked me and said that it wasn’t necessary, and we ended our call.

I put my iPhone away and stepped out of the shop.

Across Crown, WALK was green again.

There was still a little cluster of people out in the middle of the street near the crossing.

I went over to find two women standing over the young man or woman, who lay still and painfully contorted on the road; another dark-haired man or woman clutching a small child and kneeling at the victim’s feet; and a man kneeling near the victim’s head and studying his smartphone. I wondered if he was looking at the St John Ambulance First Aid app I had bought for my iPhone a few nights before.

Someone had opened a clear umbrella with white trimming and placed it on the ground in front of the victim. It wasn’t raining then, but the umbrella made a good protective marker for the victim’s position.

I approached the two women, and when they saw me coming they both held up a hand indicating for me to stop.

I took that to mean that they and the others had the situation under control – and from what I could see, they did – so I told them that I’d seen what happened and had called an ambulance.

They both nodded and thanked me, and one of them also told me that she’d called an ambulance as well.

I thanked them and left, and continued north-east.

*

For the next fifteen minutes or so, as I reached and then crossed Hyde Park South towards the Sydney CBD, I couldn’t help but think about what had just happened.

But at the same time as my mind raced with second-guessing, I told myself to stay calm and not get upset.

Should I have rushed out to help instead of ducking into that shop to call an ambulance? No – there were already people going to the victim’s aid, and an ambulance was needed as quickly as possible.

Should I have stayed to help the man and women at the scene? No – they looked like they didn’t need me, and that they had the situation under control.

Was the victim still alive, or dead? I hoped alive, or course – but either way, there was nothing I or anyone else could have done to prevent that accident.

Thanks to my St John Ambulance first aid training, though, I had quickly taken action afterwards.

I was a little shaken, but overall I convinced myself to stay calm. Yet again I remembered my Eckhart Tolle, focused on what I was doing now, and continued north-east.

A small pain like indigestion had now appeared just below my chest.

*

The Sydney CBD was even more crowded with pedestrian and vehicle traffic rushing in all directions, but I was mentally prepared for that.

Unfortunately, it was raining lightly again and some folks were rushing even more.

I took extra care as I moved along.

At George and Park with only seconds to go before WALK turned green, a speeding bus swept around from Park onto George and halted with its rear blocking the pedestrian crossing. That certainly wasn’t appreciated, and so as pedestrians walked awkwardly around the bus’s rear I glared in the driver’s direction and meant to yell, “ARSEHOLE!”…but instead, it came out as an uncertain “Arsehole…”

Five minutes later, I was north of the Queen Victoria Building (QVB) and waiting to cross York, it was once again only a few seconds until WALK when suddenly not one but two buses roared through like huge missiles on their way south to the QVB bus interchange.

Fucking buses – but I kept that thought to myself.

Another five minutes later, I was almost at the zebra crossing of York and Barrack when another bus coming south indicated that it wanted to turn into Barrack, and I actually found myself saying out loud, “Oh, no, not another one…”

The bus slowed as it turned into Barrack, but the driver had miscalculated, almost came up onto the curb nearby and had to fart-arse around for a moment to get the bus properly into Barrack. Finally it cleared the zebra crossing, and pedestrians were able to cross.

Fucking buses. Again.

*

The last stage of my trip to the restaurant is a five-or-so minutes walk down the steep slope of Erskine Street.

It was still raining lightly, so I carefully made my way downhill with three sets of busy lights to cross.

At the second intersection, I had just made it to the pavement when suddenly I heard a dreadful familiar sound behind me – the sole of someone’s shoe slipping harshly on wet bitumen.

And shortly after that, a woman screamed, “OH, JESUS CHRIST, ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?!?”

I slowed, made sure that I was not in danger of slipping myself, and carefully turned around.

Two women clutching each other tight stepped up onto the curb behind me. They were safe.

I let out a sigh of relief, turned back around and carefully resumed my journey.

That indigestion-like pain was still there.

*

Finally, I arrived at the restaurant.

The staff greeted me warmly as they always do, and asked if tonight I wanted to sit elsewhere else instead of at my favourite table because a large party was going to be seated nearby.

For the next few hours, though, the idea of being near lots of laughing people enjoying themselves was very appealing, so I said that I was happy to sit at my usual table.

I unshouldered my backpack and began setting up my dining area with OCD routine, and as I did my usual jugs of Diet Coke and iced water with glasses arrived.

A moment after that, everything was in its right place – Kindle on its stand, moist wipes and pocket tissues close by, garbage baggie for my used wipes and tissues further away, iPhone as my clock within arm’s reach – and as I poured my first glasses of Diet Coke and water I prepared to just sit there a little while and enjoy the moment of just being there…

…but the line at the prepare-your-own-meal section was growing from other groups that had already arrived, so I decided that I should get some food now.

A moment later, I found myself standing behind a young couple with two infant children slowly preparing their bowls of ingredients, the father cradling one child in one arm as he used his free hand to fill bowls. Part of me mentally rolled my eyes but another part of me told myself to knock it off and just cool it.

I did, and soon the young family picked up speed and moved along.

I filled my bowl, and towards the end I glanced over at the buffet section (included with your prepare-your-own meals) and I noticed that they had different dishes there tonight. That didn’t bother me, though, because tonight’s dishes looked interesting and whatever the restaurant cooks is always good.

I went around to the service area in front of the Perspex-enclosed cooking area where you pass your bowl to one of the chefs through the clearly-marked IN window, watch as the chef cooks your ingredients, and finally move to the clearly-marked OUT window where the chef hands you your freshly-cooked meal.

Most times, diners get the drift by forming an orderly queue to IN and progressing as required to OUT.

Tonight, though, the young family before me and a few other diners hadn’t gotten the drift. Several bowls were lined up on the counter on the wrong side of IN, and their owners were standing every-damn-where.

Without a word, I went around to the correct side of IN, placed my bowl there and stepped back to show that I wasn’t pushing in but that I knew the drift.

Soon, a few more arrivals fell into correct sequence behind me – although the jerk after me not only stood uncomfortably close, but actually slid his bowl right up against mine with a clink.

Fucking arsehole! Get the FUCK out of my personal space!

A moment later, though, he went over to the buffet area for a look, and I moved my bowl away from his.

*

A few minutes later with a steaming bowl of wonderful-looking food in one hand, I went back to my table to finally relax with dinner and reading…

…but when I got to my table, I found another steaming bowl of different food sitting there.

I stopped, and stared.

What was THIS?!?

This new bowl contained what looked like one of my favourite buffet dishes, although it wasn’t available tonight because of the different dishes there.

One of the senior staff hurried over and explained that the new bowl had been specially prepared for me as it wasn’t available from the buffet that night.

For a moment, I was genuinely struck dumb and touched greatly by this unexpected act of generosity and kindness – which was especially appreciated after what had happened during the previous hour, although the restaurant folks knew nothing about it.

Fortunately, though, I quickly remembered my manners, and I thanked them very much a couple of times.

I sat down, fired up the Kindle to begin reading and found the new bowl of food too good to resist, so I started eating from that first.

A few minutes of very welcome eating and reading passed…until I found that the indigestion-like pain was not only still there, but that I couldn’t eat another bite.

There was only one thing to do.

I calmly went to the toilet, occupied a stall and calmly threw up what I’d just eaten.

That pain vanished, and my whole body relaxed.

I stood there for a moment and enjoyed a few deep breaths, and then I washed up and returned to my table.

I settled in with dinner and reading, and later some surfing.

Not long after, the large party at the nearby tables arrived. They were noisy, but it didn’t bother me.

*

A few hours later, on my way home and with my hands laden with two heavy carry-bags of groceries, I returned to Oxford and Crown.

Traffic was flowing normally again, and all sign of what had happened there a few hours before was completely gone.

A few times back at the restaurant, I had checked online for any news about the accident, but there had been none.

To my right across Oxford was Pie Face, but with my hands full of heavy groceries it wasn’t worth the effort to go there for a free mini-pie.

I waited until WALK appeared, and as I crossed Crown I glanced once more at where the victim of the accident had lain.

Again, no sign at all of what had happened there earlier.

I continued past and headed for home.

*

Until next time, stay well and take care.

Posted in Action, Anger, Gratitude, Life Challenges, My Story | 3 Comments

15 Minutes (Part 1)

Posted on 14 August 2011 by blackandblueman

WARNING!
The following post contains language that may offend some readers!

11:30am, Wednesday 3 August 2011.

I stepped out of the front door of my apartment building.

An hour away was the next meeting of a technical writing networking group that I’m a member of. I was looking forward to it – the meeting’s subject was methods for planning how to write technical documentation, and it was good to get out of the (home) office for a while.

Before I got there, though, I was also planning to buy the next round of medication for my black dog, and grab some lunch to eat at the meeting. By my reckoning, I would be able to get both tasks done and still get to the meeting with time to spare.

Sounded like a good plan.

As I closed the front door behind me, I glanced at the mailboxes mounted on the walls nearby, just behind the front gate.

I usually check my mail when I get home each night, but because I was on my way out with lots of time to spare, I decided to break with routine and check my mailbox.

I opened my left jacket pocket and took out one of my two key-rings. I found the right key, opened my mailbox and grabbed the mail inside.

After I closed my mailbox and put my mail in my carry bag, I headed off to the local chemist.

It was a pleasant-looking day, and my personal timetable was getting off to a good start.

*

About thirty minutes later as noon approached, my personal timetable was running well.

I’d dreaded a long queue at the chemist, but fortunately there’d been no one else waiting for their medication and so I was quickly in and out of there.

Next, I’d crossed Hyde Park South without incident, and now I was only minutes away from the Woolworths supermarket on George Street in the Sydney CBD where I was planning to get my lunch.

I could give myself an unhurried 10 minutes or so at Woolies, and then spend the next few minutes heading south down George to the meeting venue.

At this rate, I could be settled in and ready for the meeting by 12:20pm, with 10 minutes to spare.

I smiled as I crossed over from Hyde Park South to the Starbucks at the corner of Elizabeth and Park Streets.

A moment later as I went past the Starbucks, my hand brushed my left jacket pocket and –

Something felt wrong.

I halted.

I patted my left jacket pocket again.

Yes, the weight of its contents didn’t feel right…

I quickly opened that pocket and, one by one, took out each item and put them in my right hand.

The key-ring I’d used for opening my mailbox wasn’t there.

I patted my left jacket pocket and felt around within it again, to ensure that I hadn’t missed grabbing that key-ring.

No, I hadn’t missed it – because it wasn’t there.

What the FUCK?!?

And then I made a horrible realisation.

I knew where that key-ring most likely was.

It was still back at the entrance to my building, either hanging from my mailbox lock or lying on the tiles underneath, about a 15-minute walk behind me.

But with the visit to the chemist, 30 minutes had passed since I’d left home.

And in all that time, someone else may have already found that key-ring –

Oh, for fuck’s sake! What a completely fucking STUPID thing you’ve done!

I’d now screwed up my morning and potentially put my home in danger. Yes, two keys were needed to get into my apartment and I still had one of them on my other key-ring, but even with just the other key a clever someone who may now have it, and who may also know which apartment it was for, could still –

Fucking stupid IDIOT! You were probably thinking of something else at that moment and not paying attention to what you were doing like you should have been! Fucking FOOL!

But before my self-flagellation got out of hand, I took a deep breath and stopped cursing myself.

After all, there was only one thing to do.

I very carefully put everything back into my left jacket, zipped it shut, looked around my feet to ensure that I hadn’t dropped anything, saw that I hadn’t, turned around and began the urgent 15-minutes-or-so journey back home.

Would I be in time?

And if not – what then?

Until next time, stay well and take care 🙂

Continued in this thrilling installment

Posted in Action, Anger, Life Challenges, My Story | 1 Comment

All the lone people

Posted on 7 August 2011 by blackandblueman

Mid-morning, Saturday, 23 July 2011.

I was in my room at the Four Seasons Olims Hotel where I’d spent the past two nights in Canberra, and I was packing my bags to return home after the week’s leave I’d mentioned in my last post.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, my iPhone rang.

My first thought was that it was my mother calling to check that I was okay.

But as I went to pick up my ‘phone, I saw from the display that the caller was my neighbour back home in the apartment next door. He was also the building caretaker.

Shit! Had something happened at my place – like it had been broken into?!?

A moment later, though, I was relieved to hear that my apartment was fine…

…but the reason my neighbour was calling was that no one else in our building had seen me for the past week, and he was concerned that maybe I was badly sick or otherwise trapped in my apartment.

I assured him that I was fine and returning home that night from holiday.

I was genuinely grateful for my neighbour’s concern, and his call was a typically kind and practical gesture. After we’d ended our call, though, I wondered if he’d also been prompted to ring me by a recent incident in Sydney that had been big news and prompted a lot of comment and debate.

*

I used to live in the Sydney inner-city suburb of Surry Hills, and also not far from Kippax Street where in early July an eerie discovery was made – the bones of Natalie Jean Wood, an elderly woman whom had last been seen alive in 2003 and had died alone in her home sometime since then without anyone else apparently knowing or realising it (her home is the middle one pictured above).

That news made big headlines, and it immediately reminded me of another story that had caused a similar sensation back in 1995 when the bones of Sydneysider Clement Williams had been found in his home…three years after he had died, according to the last entry found in his nearby diary, which was a simple matter-of-fact observation about his last morning’s weather back in 1992. Another eerie factor about that discovery was that the radio was still playing.

The missed death of Clement Williams prompted a lot of debate in the media about isolation within modern society, and especially for the elderly. There were even suggestions for local or state government to set up a register for people living alone so that in the event of their deaths they wouldn’t be missed (although I can’t recall if this or something similar went ahead).

Sixteen years later, Natalie Jean Wood’s missed death once again prompted debate about people being too isolated from the rest of the world, either by choice or not, and what can or should be done to prevent more deaths from remaining undiscovered for years.

*

In late 1995 – and several months after the discovery of Clement Williams’ death – I moved to Sydney and have lived alone here ever since.

During the 2000s as I became active online at Facebook predecessors like WHquestion and Cerescape, every now and then someone would report a sad story about people whose lone or lonely deaths had not been discovered for weeks, months or years. The longest case I read about was a Japanese businessman who back in the early 1980s suffered financial difficulties and disappeared…until the mid 2000s, when his skeletal remains from his death about 20 years before were discovered where he’d been living rough in an abandoned Tokyo skyscraper.

These stories not only prompted more debate about the loneliness of modern society, but for those of us living alone it also got us thinking about our own situations – if we died in our homes, how long would it take before we were missed and our deaths were discovered?

In my case, I thought at the time, it would depend upon what day of the week I died.

If I died at home on a weekday, I would think that it would be discovered within two or three days at least, especially because of my employer wanting to know where I was.

If I died home alone on a Friday night, though, I wouldn’t be surprised that, because I usually spend my weekends alone and don’t have social contact until Tuesday movie-nights with friends, it could take up to a week for my death to be discovered.

*

By 2009, I had become one of the two million or so Australians (out of a total population of approximately 22 million) who live alone and mostly by choice.

As well by then, I had become (and still am) a heavy user of Facebook as a games centre and the most convenient way of staying in touch with friends all around the world.

In fact, as I became more isolated at work and then began working from home full-time since late last year, I often half-jokingly tell people that “If it wasn’t for Facebook, I wouldn’t have a social life during business hours”.

Thanks to Facebook, though, there is the possibility that if I suddenly died alone at home, nowadays it would be discovered much sooner – especially if people started wondering why I was suddenly ignoring their requests in CityVille and Empires & Allies.

*

As of this writing, it’s been two weeks since my neighbour called me.

Out of curiosity, I would still like to ask him if the discovery of Natalie Jean Wood’s lone death partly or wholly prompted him to call me.

The irony, though, is that during the past fortnight I have sometimes heard him entering and leaving his apartment, and one morning while heading out for work-related reasons I passed his open front door…but in all that time, I haven’t seen him in person at all.

At this rate, maybe I’ll never get a chance to ask him.

Until next time, stay well and take care 🙂

UPDATE: 11 AUGUST 2011
Today, I finally got a chance to speak with my neighbour.

After we talked about a couple of other things, however, I was initially reluctant to ask him if the discovery of Natalie Jean Wood’s missed death had partly or wholly prompted him to call me that morning, because now that seemed foolish and morbid.

Fortunately, though, I eventually told myself to stop being a coward, and so I put my question to him.

He burst out laughing – good-naturedly, though, and then said that, yes, it had partly been why he’d called me.

UPDATE: 5 FEBRUARY 2014
The Sydney Morning Herald: ‘Natalie Wood: The woman Sydney forgot’

Posted in Something to Think About | 2 Comments

One does not simply walk into Clouston & Hall Booksellers

Posted on 25 July 2011 by blackandblueman

To my regular readers, my apologies for missing last week’s post and being late with this one.

*

The week just past was spent on holiday, partly to take a short break from work and partly to visit family.

First, I spent four nights in Batemans Bay on the NSW south coast where I visited family.

Second, I spent two nights in Canberra, the national capital.

And while I was in Canberra, a plan I’d made for that part of my holiday turned out very well indeed.

*

It was hundreds of years ago back in 1989-1991 while I was at the University of Canberra that I discovered Clouston & Hall Booksellers in Civic (Canberra City). To a low-income book-junkie like myself, Clouston & Hall was heaven – not only did it sell books at amazing bargain prices, but it also sold a wide range of interesting titles that you wouldn’t find anywhere else.

In early 2009, I spent two months working in Canberra – and now I was a modest-income book-junkie. Thus, during those eight weeks I spent hundreds of dollars – and maybe even a thousand – hauling away piles of books from Clouston & Hall. And I mean hauling – after my first couple of visits (I traveled back and forth between Sydney and Canberra each week), I started taking two luggage bags instead of one so that it would be easier to lug my loot back home.

After that heady experience, I resolved that whenever I next visited Canberra, Clouston & Hall would always be a port of call – or if my book addiction couldn’t wait until then, I could always buy from there by mail.

*

Two years passed.

I never got back to Canberra, and I also never got around to buying anything by mail from Clouston & Hall.

Early this year, I made a major decision about my future – and that involved eventually getting rid of most of my books.

In April, however, I made a life-changing purchase to help me cut back on book-buying but at the same time make my love of books and reading much more manageable – I bought an Amazon Kindle.

And as my recent holiday approached, I came up with an exciting plan for when I’d be in Canberra.

I would still visit Clouston & Hall – but instead of buying lots more books there, I would make a list of any interesting-looking titles and later see if they were available in ebook format at Amazon.

I couldn’t wait for that big day to arrive.

*

Friday, 22 July, 2011 – after my first night in Canberra, the big day had arrived.

I slept in, eventually headed into Civic, had lunch and then went to Clouston & Hall.

I took out my pocket notepad and pen, and went to work.

Almost three hours later, after patiently making my way around the entirety of the store, I was done.

Just over three notepad pages were filled with the titles and prices of books I had found that seemed very interesting, somewhat interesting and even mildly interesting.

I left Clouston & Hall, grabbed a table at nearby King O’Malley’s, and with a cold jug of heavenly-tasting diet cola at hand I fired up my notebook and went to Amazon…

…where I made many disappointing discoveries.

Most of the titles I had noted down at Clouston & Hall weren’t available in ebook format at Amazon.

I double-checked at The Book Depository.

Nope – there was even less available there.

Damn!

The dream I’d had of filling up my Kindle with lots more books I’d seen at Clouston & Hall faded…

…although my spirits rose again when, during my searches at Amazon, I spotted a link to the Kindle Big Deal where about 900 titles were on special.

Investigating that 900 would take time, however, and my notebook’s battery was getting low, so that mission would have to wait until later that night back at my hotel room.

*

Later that night back at my hotel room, I went through all of the titles available at the Kindle Big Deal, selected 23 of them and paid not even $68.

Next, I returned to the list I’d made at Clouston & Hall, looked at the titles that weren’t available as ebooks from Amazon, and once again mulled over something that I’d been thinking about since King O’Malley’s.

Should I return to Clouston & Hall the next day and actually buy some of those books?

It wasn’t a question of money, which I had enough of. As well, I had no issue with Clouston & Hall’s prices, which were very good – and in fact, I felt a little guilty having spent all that time there to make a shopping list for use at an overseas retailer.

It was a question of practicality, though. Not so much adding to my luggage for the trip home, but very much adding to the clutter of books at home.

Ever since I’d bought my Kindle back in early August, I’d only bought two books – and one of them had been the only book I’d read in all that time. Purchasing and reading ebooks on the Kindle had very much become the norm.

Part of me found the idea of buying books rather clumsy and impractical…

…but then another part of me considered the following:

  1. The only way I’d be able to read those books would be to purchase them
  2. Purchasing them would be helping a retailer I liked
  3. After returning home, what would I regret more – buying those books, or not buying those books?
  4. Even if I did buy those books, I could still get rid of them at a future date
  5. Really…so what if you buy those books, you big wanker?

So, I narrowed down my Clouston & Hall list to 11 titles.

*

The next morning, after checking out from my hotel, I returned to Clouston & Hall, grabbed those 11 titles and added one more (what the hell, it was in hardback for only $4.95).

And I’m glad I did, especially as the first book I’ve started reading from that lot is already engrossing – Frank Owen’s No Speed Limit: The Highs And Lows Of Meth.

To paraphrase a quote that is often used for the subject of love, better to have bought a pile of books and read them and eventually given them away than to have not bought and read them at all.

Until next time, stay well and take care 🙂

Posted in Action, Bibliophilia, Happiness, Life Challenges, Life is Good, Life Strategies | 11 Comments

The Black and Blue Ghost: Part 5

Posted on 9 July 2011 by blackandblueman

Previous installments in this series:

As well, it is recommended to read Part 5 of Workshy Joe’s series ‘Men Who Go Ghost’, which inspired this series

*

In the last installment of his series ‘Men Who Go Ghost’, Workshy Joe makes the following statement:

Like it or not, there is something other-worldly and remote about men who eschew sex or long term relationships completely.

Having been such a man for more than half my life, I agree.

This year as my 40th birthday approached and then passed by, I often thought about how I’ve spent most of my time on Earth thus far without any relationships with women or not even rubbing uglies with them. I don’t feel ashamed or miserable about it…but only one experience of nookie in all this time? Unlike me, most people throughout their lives do have partners, or sex, or both.

Yet, if I went back in time to late 1988, met my 17-year-old before he went to university the following year and told him how things would turn out, at first he would be stunned (I/he wouldn’t even get laid at uni?!?)…but after that initial shock, he wouldn’t be surprised after all.

As well, he would even smile with both anticipation and satisfaction at the mostly solitary life he would come to live as me. The Black and Blue Ghost was already there.

And for now, until if or when I decide to go Game instead, he’s still here.

Until next time, stay well and take care 🙂

Posted in Happiness, Life Challenges, Life is Good, Life Strategies, My Story | 5 Comments

The Black and Blue Ghost: Part 4

Posted on 2 July 2011 by blackandblueman

Previous installments in this series:

As well, it is recommended to read Part 4 of Workshy Joe’s series ‘Men Who Go Ghost’, which inspired this series

*

As you may recall from Part 1, hundreds of years ago back in mid-1983 when I was 11 or 12 I decided that as an adult I wanted to live as an ‘urban hermit’ in a place of my own near the centre of Sydney.

In late 1995, I began living that dream in a way and have been doing so ever since. I’m not a hermit, and as I’ve gotten older I’ve come to enjoy socialising a lot, but I still like to spend a lot of time by myself and my home is my cave.

As Workshy Joe mentions in Part 4 of ‘Men Who Go Ghost’, living alone can be expensive – and as some readers will be well aware, Sydney is one of the most expensive places in the world. As well, I wanted to live in one of Sydney’s most expensive areas, the inner east – which is pricey partly because some parts are ritzy (although some parts certainly aren’t), and partly because it’s close to the city centre and other ‘colourful’ locations like the (in)famous Kings Cross red-light district.

Thus, I currently pay $260 a week for a small studio apartment in a building that doesn’t even have a lift (I’m up on the third floor, and the laundry is two storeys above on the roof).

That may seem like a steep price to pay, but the convenience of its location is a tremendous pay-off. Pretty much everything I need and want is within walking distance, and that includes (but is not limited to) a hospital, several cinemas and my psychiatrist. As well, I’m also close to main-hub railway stations like Central and Town Hall that give me access to most other things further beyond.

As well, I genuinely enjoy my part of Sydney, which is also one of the oldest parts and one of the most interesting. There is always something to see and do, and there’s also the historic atmosphere and how situations can change amazingly over time. For example, the suburb of Darlinghurst is nowadays quite pricey and trendy – yet back in the 1920s it was such a bloodbath slum that Darlinghurst was popularly known as Gunhurst until 1927 when tougher gun laws came in…but as many of the local gangs replaced firearms with cut-throat razors as weapons of choice, it gained the new nickname of Razorhurst (if you want to read more about this grim chapter of Darlo’s history, I very much recommend this book).

Finally, I’m also very fortunate in that I have a full-time job that pays reasonably well.

The only major problem I’ve had is that I’m a hoarder with a terrible weakness for books, which has resulted in a lot of otherwise free space being occupied by clutter. Fortunately, as I’ve written previously, becoming a Kindle owner has started to put a huge stop to this, and there’s also my 10-Year Plan that I’m working towards.

So, living alone as a Ghost is not too bad at all.

Until next time, stay well and take care 🙂

Posted in Happiness, Life is Good, Life Strategies, My Story | Leave a comment

The Black and Blue Ghost: Part 3

Posted on 19 June 2011 by blackandblueman

Previous installments in this series:

As well, it is recommended to read Part 3 of Workshy Joe’s series ‘Men Who Go Ghost’, which inspired this series

*

Early in Part Three of ‘Men Who Go Ghost’, Workshy Joe asks the following question:

…will men who are currently not making any kind of effort with women want to learn Game?

In my case, the answer is yes. Although I said previously that I’m content being a Ghost, there may come the day when I decide to plunge headlong into the fray – and if I do, Game seems like a good place to start.

In fact, even though I currently don’t date, Game has already had a big impact upon my life.

Late in 2009, I read Neil Strauss’s now-classic The Game, and it’s still one of the most interesting and thought-provoking non-fiction books I’ve ever read. Not only did Strauss write an always compelling and very entertaining story about becoming a pick-up artist, but The Game made me regard men and women in a different way and understand why they do some of the things they do.

As a result, and in combination with the progress I was making with my depression, I began changing my behaviour. As a result, life kept getting better. For example, I’ve already described how I’ve learned to walk with more confidence along Sydney streets; coupled with that, instead of immediately looking away if an attractive woman saw me looking at her, I’d hold her gaze instead. Why be ashamed of getting caught admiring her?

As well, learning to live with depression was like learning inner game. Thanks to my medication and therapy, I was feeling much less self-consciousness and self-loathing, and instead I was feeling much better about myself and taking further steps out of my comfort zone.

In early 2010 I stumbled upon the Manosphere and have since continued to read blogs like those by Roissy, Roosh and Obsidian. I don’t agree with everything that’s written, but like The Game some of it keeps me thinking,

*

Returning to Workshy Joe and Part 3 of ‘Men Who Go Ghost’, he also asks the following question:

What happens to a man when he doesn’t have sex for extended periods of time?

In my experience: not much that was a problem.

Looking back, I do have some regrets that I never made any attempt to get any jollies – and I also regret the defeatist and negative mindset I had during that time where I thought of myself only as an unattractive oaf. I also wonder if getting involved with women during that time may have led me to improving my life much sooner.

At the same time, however, I came to enjoy solitude a great deal (as I still do) and having most of my time to myself to indulge in pastimes like reading, playing video games and (from the late ‘90s onwards) surfing the internet. I’ve rarely gotten bored – and ever since reading a little of Eckhart Tolle’s famous work, even less so.

As well, although I never engaged in any physical action, there was a lot of mental action. Ever since adolescence, in my mind I have made love thousands of times to thousands of women.

Maybe this was part of the problem, being content with fantasy and not setting out to create a reality…but at least no animals and people were harmed in the process.

*

Near the end of his Part 3, Workshy Joe makes the following suggestion:

I would also add that in the case of Ghosts, its better to stick to soft porn. Hardcore imagery that is all about penetration and coupling could be psychologically counterproductive in that instance.

I agree. In most cases, I’ve find hard porn to be counterproductive…

…not psychologically, though, but because it’s ugly.

Ugly production values, ugly background music, ugly dialogue that’s often unintentionally hilarious, and most of all ugly male actors blocking the camera with their even uglier hairy arses.

And on that note, stay well and take care 🙂

Posted in Action, Confidence, Depression, Life Challenges, Life is Good, Life Strategies, My Story | 1 Comment

The Black and Blue Ghost: Part 2

Posted on 12 June 2011 by blackandblueman

Previous installments in this series:

As well, it is recommended to read Part 2 of Workshy Joe’s series ‘Men Who Go Ghost’, which inspired this series

*

I particularly enjoyed Part 2 of Workshy Joe’s series ‘Men Who Go Ghost’ because I could partly relate to Twin Peaks Giant (TPG), the Ghostly subject of Joe’s post.

Like TPG, I live alone in a small apartment and it’s been several years since my last relationship. As well, many years ago my appendix burst and I suddenly had to be rushed to hospital, and I also spent several years working as a supermarket shelf-stacker.

Unlike TPG, though, I am short and stocky, and I also haven’t owned or driven a motor vehicle in almost 20 years (in fact, I’ve never driven a car – I’ve only ever been a motorcyclist). Most of all, though, while TPG has a frugal home mine is an over-cluttered nightmare, thanks especially to being unable to say no to my OCD self at bookshops (until very recently, when my purchase of an Amazon Kindle finally put a stop to this).

Yet despite the differences in our home lifestyles – and my internet-loving disbelief that TPG doesn’t have his own PC for surfing – I liked and respected the idea of TPG’s home because it is very much his own private corner of the world where others rarely set foot.

*

Since late 1995 I have lived alone – and unless I have a radical change of character in the future, that’s how I want to live for the rest of my life.

That includes if I’m ever again involved in a relationship. I would much prefer that future partners and I maintain separate homes. It’s nothing against women – I like my personal space, and my home is my cave.

The funny thing is, I first encountered this concept of being together but living apart through a female character in fiction. Back in the early ‘90s I was a fan of Bill Pronzini’s Nameless Detective novels, and when I first read about how ND’s girlfriend wanted to remain living in her own home, I thought “Huh? and “Why?” – but as the years have passed, I came to understand and very much appreciate the concept.

With my previous relationship, living apart wasn’t an issue because it was long-distance over the internet with a woman in the US.

With future relationships, I’ll cross those bridges if I ever come to them.

And that’s a big emphasis on the “if”.

*

As I mentioned at the end of the previous installment in this series, I was 11 when I discovered girls.

It wasn’t until I was 36, however, that I had my first intimate relationship with a woman, the online one I mentioned above.

Yes, that was 25 years – and during that quarter-century, I didn’t date or make any passes at women.

And yes, in Game terms that meant I was very omega.

Why?

*

As I also described in Part 1 of this series, at 11 I was a social failure and my first year at junior high school was a disaster.

Unfortunately, the next few years of my teens were even worse, and as a result I became even more anti-social and withdrawn. Which of course meant that, despite being a typically horny teenage boy, the idea of being intimately involved with girls was out of the question.

During my late teens, life became much better, but I still couldn’t see myself asking girls on dates or progressing beyond that – and as a result, I didn’t.

In 1989, I did think that things could possibly change when I went to university and lived on campus…but by the end of that year, I told myself that being at uni wasn’t going to make any difference either. I was still very socially awkward; the girls in my dorm and classes were already becoming women while I was still a scared little kid with no idea and little experience about most things in life; and instead of taking action to overcome those problems, I became mostly a recluse instead.

By the end of uni, I was spending almost all of my time by myself.

At the same time, though, I genuinely enjoyed solitude for its own sake. It was a peaceful and much less stressful way to live; I had always enjoyed solitary activities like reading and video games anyway; and best of all, my time was all my own.

In fact, I had been enjoying solitude since my early teens – but by the end of uni, I had decided to make it most of my lifestyle.

*

After I finished uni in 1991, I spent the first few years of my twenties living with my eldest sister, and later her partner also joined us. They were fun years, and I had no problems sharing a home with sis, her partner and two cats (and for a few months, six kittens as well).

By my mid-twenties our lives took us in different directions and we moved apart. For a brief period after that, I lived with my parents in the country until late 1995 when, at the age of 24, I moved here to Sydney by myself where I’ve been ever since.

As time passed, I slowly became more social. By the early 2000s, I had even overcome a fear of pubs that I’d had since my teens – I hadn’t set foot in one since I was 18 – and I began playing weekly pub-trivia that I still do to this day.

I made friends both male and female whom I also still have to this day – but although I had continuing lustful thoughts about women I worked with, met socially or saw walking down the street, I still had no guts, confidence or ambition to try and slake those thirsts. Going out to places like nightclubs had no appeal anyway, and I still enjoyed spending most of my spare time by myself.

*

In mid-2007, some medical issues led me to therapy, where I was diagnosed as suffering from depression (and perhaps for most of my life – or even all of it).

Fortunately in the months that followed, I reacted well to medication and therapy, and my life changed for the much-better – so much so that towards the end of that remarkable year, I began to ponder a radical notion.

Now that at last I was developing some self-confidence and broadening my horizons…what if I started dating?

As it turned out, I didn’t and still haven’t – but instead during late 2007, an online friendship unexpectedly turned into the hot and heavy long-distance romance that I mentioned earlier.

And it was a romance that I had initiated, to my even greater surprise – which in turn showed how far I’d come in just a few months of being treated for depression.

(But that may be another story for a future post)

*

That relationship lasted for about eight months into mid-2008. It ended amicably, and my former girlfriend and I remain friends to this day.

Since then, though, I haven’t had the burning desire to enter into another relationship, either online or physical. It could be nice to do it again, but I’m not in active pursuit.

For now, I’m still content to be a Ghost.

Until next time, stay well and take care 🙂

Posted in Action, Confidence, Depression, Life Challenges, Life Strategies, My Story | 2 Comments

Therapy Laffs

Posted on 4 June 2011 by blackandblueman

Ever since Black and Blue Man began…yikes, 10 months ago, I’ve often mentioned that the therapy I began in mid-2007 has been a tremendous help with treating my depression.

Once a week, I visit my psychiatrist in a neighbouring suburb and for 30 minutes we discuss any problems I’ve been having and any accomplishments I’ve achieved.

At times it’s been challenging, confronting, grim and unnerving – but overall, it’s been rewarding and thought-provoking. Thanks to advice and support from my psychiatrist, I’ve taken several important steps out of my comfort zone and increased the scope for what I can achieve and enjoy in life.

And as with most other things in life, there have also been the funny moments. This entry presents two of my favourites.

As well, this post has given me the excuse to finally feature the above classic cartoon from Gary Larson’s The Far Side.

Laff 1
When I visit my psychiatrist each week, the following routine usually takes place:

  1. When the appointment before mine finishes, he walks that patient to the front door of the waiting room, bids them farewell, greets me and tells me that he’ll be with me in a moment
  2. As he returns inside his office for a moment, I turn and look out the waiting-room window to the street outside
  3. A moment later, I’ll hear the door to his office open, and I turn to him stepping out of his office to allow me to go in

About a year or so ago, I was there for an appointment and as usual, Steps 1 and 2 took place.

A moment passed.

I didn’t hear the sound of his door open to begin Step 3.

I kept looking out the waiting-room window.

Another moment passed.

I frowned with puzzlement, looked back over my shoulder at the office door –

– and suddenly found my psychiatrist standing right beside me.

I startle very easily.

Which is why I cried out “BLAH!” and leaped back from him.

A moment later, I apologised for my over-reaction.

He smiled quietly, assured me that there was no problem and gestured me to his office.

Had he deliberately snuck up on me for a cheap laugh…or had he come up behind me, realised that I hadn’t yet heard him, and then waited for me to finally realise he was there and be startled for a cheap laugh?

Whatever the reason, I bear no malice because I thought it was pretty funny.

Laff 2
It was about a month ago, and my appointment that day was just over an hour away when I decided to do some important online research.

Two nights before, I had gone to a live recording of Top Gear Australia, and between segments there had been a warm-up man not doing too bad a job, although from time to time there were some awkward pauses as he quickly thought up new material.

That had reminded me of Alexei Sayle’s infamous character Bobby Chariot, and so I decided to revisit him via YouTube through the following clips:

In turn, that led me to the following Alexei monologues:

Those last two clips in particular had me in stitches over and over again – until I realised the potential danger I’d now put myself in.

What if I still was laughing my head off at Alexei while walking to the psychiatrist…and then at his office?

I stopped laughing, calmed down, and put Alexei at the back of my mind.

Soon, I walked to the psychiatrist without incident.

Next, I waited outside his office without further incident.

After that, the appointment before me finished and my psychiatrist gestured me into his office.

I went in, put aside my bags, sat down…

…but as my psychiatrist sat down opposite me, those two Alexei clips came rushing back, as well as how I’d told myself barely an hour before to not think about them when I got here…

…and so here I was, thinking about those blasted clips again.

I mentally commanded myself to stop thinking about them.

I kept thinking about them.

My psychiatrist sat quietly in his chair.

Quickly, my mind raced to find a way out of this latest mess I’d gotten myself into, thinking about those damn clips –

– and finally, I looked up at my psychiatrist.

I told him quickly, “Excuse me, I’ve just got to get this out of my system – ”

And I burst out laughing.

I kept laughing for about the next 10 seconds or so, and indeed I finally got those blasted clips out of my system.

My psychiatrist continued to sit quietly in his chair.

I finished laughing, took a deep breath, and asked him if he was familiar with Alexei Sayle.

Fortunately, he said that he was, and so I explained why I had just sat there and suddenly burst out laughing like a…loon.

He smiled, assured me that there was no problem, and added that it was good to see me laugh.

I felt much better.

Until next time, stay well and take care 🙂

Posted in Having a Laugh, Life is Good, My Story, Therapy | Leave a comment

The Black and Blue Ghost: Part 1

Posted on 29 May 2011 by blackandblueman

  • Continued from this previous installment
  • As well, it is recommended to read Part 1 of Workshy Joe’s series ‘Men Who Go Ghost’, which inspired this series

As I mentioned in my introduction to this series, I have already been living Ghost-like for most of my life.

This has been partly through conscious decision, and partly influenced by my depression and OCD.

And like most people’s stories, this one began in my childhood.

*

Like many other Australian kids in the 1970s and early 1980s, I had a relatively normal suburban childhood.

By the age of 10, however, some worrying signs had begun to appear.

At my worst as a kid, I had been a timid crybaby who had been frightened of pretty much everything. I eventually learned to stop crying so much and screw up a bit more courage, but I also became very self-conscious, which in turn encouraged me to withdraw a lot into myself and not want to get involved in group activities – especially sports, which I mostly found boring anyway – but in turn that led to developing less and less physical and social skills, and gaining weight.

For most of my childhood I lived in a part of town far from most of my peers, and at school I was often in other classes from most of my closest friends. I did have other friends in those classes and my immediate neighbourhood – but often friends in one group clashed badly with friends from another. I varied between being trying to be a diplomat between both groups, taking one side and pissing off the other, or just getting tired of the whole fucking thing and keeping more to myself.

At home, life wasn’t bad and we never lacked for anything – but both of my parents could be short-tempered (as I’ve always been myself) and at times very intimidating. They were both in their twenties at the time and raising three young children on one low income, and when I later experienced my own twenties I appreciated what a crappy decade of a person’s life those years can be – but at the time, and coupled with what I’ve described in the previous two paragraphs, life became even more nerve-wracking. The idea of experiencing family life all over again as an adult didn’t seem all that appealing – and so, I decided that I didn’t want to go through it again when I grew up.

And last but certainly not least, there was the very strange behaviour I had developed.

I had somehow gotten it into my head that odd numbers were ‘wrong’ and even numbers were ‘right’. That meant I couldn’t do simple actions like walking through a doorway or patting my dog an odd-numbered amount of times – I always had to do them an even-numbered amount of times. As well, when my family and I went places I became worried that, for example, I may never get the chance to once more stand in the corner of a room of the place we were holidaying in – so I’d step out, step back in, and step back out (but always an even-numbered amount of times, of course).

I knew that this mad shit I was doing didn’t make sense – but at the same time, I couldn’t not do it.

This mad shit was frightening and frustrating, and it made me feel very ashamed – especially when my eldest sister caught me doing it, asked me why the heck I was doing it, thought I was just being silly, and then told my parents (or maybe they caught me as well; I can’t recall).

My parents weren’t angry about what I was doing – but they did find it very funny. Which I took very personally as ridicule, so I began to shame myself into not doing that stupid mad shit. Which in turn made me feel even more angry and upset at myself and the world.

I just couldn’t win, so I adopted the dangerous mindsets that:
(a) I was an idiot
(b) the world was against me

And then came 1983, my first year of junior high school.

*

I think it was Stephen King who once commented that high school is one of the most brutal and unforgiving social orders on Earth.

Years before I read that or anything else by Stephen King, I discovered that he was right.

I tried too hard to both fit in and be a comedian. Unfortunately, I bombed, took it very personally, withdrew even further into myself and became more of a social outcast.

The new way of doing school was intimidating – and early on, I made the bad mistake of getting on the wrong side of my even more intimidating maths teacher, who would also become my first sports teacher. I was dead meat.

For a while, I had the bad habit of forgetting to do some of my homework, which got me into trouble with more of my teachers. I was even deader meat.

And to try and prevent my parents from finding out about those fails, I started lying more and more – but unsuccessfully. I was utter dead meat.

*

in all seriousness, by mid-1983 I had decided that when I grew up, I wanted to become a hermit because I felt that I just couldn’t handle life and dealing with people.

In fact, I even once said to my mother that as an adult I wanted to become an ‘urban hermit’, which meant living in a flat somewhere near the centre of Sydney and entirely keeping to myself.

Not surprisingly, she wasn’t impressed.

*

Could things get even worse?

Of course, they could – because I was also entering puberty.

*

But that part of my story and how it would contribute to my Ghostliness will have to wait until Part 2 of this series.

Until next time, stay well and take care 🙂

Posted in Anger, Depression, Life Challenges, Life Strategies, My Story | 7 Comments