Adventures in strange lands: part 50 gazillion

Life is what happens while you're busy making plans. This was a line from John Lennon and, as I often say, he should know. Nothing says "surprise!" more than being shot by Mark David Chapman on December 8th, 1980.

I do have a point here. I planned to explore the world of Second Life and report back on my encounters. A quick update: the evening of the first day I was on there I ended up dancing (if that's what you can call a bunch of pixels jiggling around other bunches of pixels) at an indie club. I enjoyed 2 things about it:

1) The music was great.
2) The DJ took requests and was quite delightful.

I ended up talking to someone. This took me a while as I had no idea how IM worked on there. After a gap of 15 minutes, I finally worked out how to apologetically reply to a guy who had said hello. He seemed nice and offered me a sage piece of advice, which was: "Don't add everyone you meet as a friend. You'll end up with lots of friends you never talk to."

This is why I gave up MSN - too many people, not enough of a multi-tasking capability.

However, I did learn another thing. I asked how often he came online and he said he was a daily visitor, often sacrificing sleep. When I asked him why his 8 hours a night had reduced to 2-3 hours, he replied that it was because he had many American friends in Second Life and the time difference meant there wasn't a great deal of daytime in which to interact with them, so he stayed online until the early hours.

Anyone who even vaguely knows me knows that I take sleep seriously. It isn't just something done at the end of a long day; it isn't even just a fond hobby. It's a vocation. So, if I don't get quality sleep I can get a) grouchy and b) depressed. I used to find sleep interrupted by my worries and anxieties. When I finally realised I enjoyed sleep a great deal more than I liked worrying, I resolved to prioritise and to not stress at night when nothing could be done.

But I digress.

One reason I haven't gone on Second Life is that I don't want to get addicted. I have an addictive personality and I've already just gone through the joys of not smoking (3 weeks and counting); I don't need a new addiction. However, the other reason has been more personal. I made a vow when I started this blog that I wouldn't do the "oh, woe is me!" because woe is most certainly not me.

You see, things have been hectic here and of concern to me. But, I am not beseiged right now. I'm distracted, but that's expected. I can't make promises to reply to things and do tasks as my mind is elsewhere occasionally. My point is this; I had something of an epiphany. A friend here called me to ask if everything was going ok, aware of my recent problems. In that moment I was tempted to say, "Well, y'know, I'm coping, but I'm so tired and I don't feel up to going over it." However (and this was the epiphany moment, so get your epiphany hats on and prepare yourself to shout "EPIPHANY!". I think I just like that word. Epiphany, epiphany, epiphany...), I didn't feel any of those things. It was like an automated response. I am coping. Scrap that: I am not "coping", I am fine. I have a little philosophy (and it's not "I hate people", although that is still very true), which is that there is no point completely losing it until you're sure there is something to lose it over. This could also be denial, but it's working for me so a rose by any other name blah blah blah.

My real point is this: I am accustomed to playing the martyred victim. I am too familiar with that process. Society has a tendency to allow us this feeling of victimhood. I'm not saying there aren't genuine victims out there. I'm not going to argue semantics with a murdered corpse (particularly as it's dead and would make a lousy debate opponent). I find it strange, however, that I am either encouraged to wallow in self-pity by society (see: any accident claims advert) or that I should just bloody well cheer up, come on, why are you crying, GET ON WITH IT! Hence the martyred victim syndrome, suffering in silence and so on. Society's opinions are schizophrenic, to say the least.

My mother's culture is a prime example of the latter view, by the way. Nothing's wrong, always smile, laugh hardest when things are going wrong, I said LAUGH HARDER! I have nothing against a culture which encourages people to work through things and try to adjust back to life when ready, but that's not the stance of my mother's culture. In the Philippines, there's an overriding sense of carrying on as if nothing is wrong. They turn denial into an art form. This, of course, leads to repression on a grander scale than us stiff upper lipped Brits could ever imagine, let alone practise. One day, a few months ago, a priest completely snapped. He had been campaigning for a local school in Manila to remain open and decided he had found a perfectly sane way to demonstrate his outrage. He kidnapped the children on their school bus, parked it outside the town hall and held the children hostage with grenades and rifles. This is but one spectacular example, but you have to admit that it's a hell of an example. To further emphasise their incredible use of denial and enforced normality, the parents of the schoolkids passed ice cream through the windows to them. But then came the wailing and rending of garments. You think you've seen distraught parents? You've never seen a Filipino mother in action. I literally mean rending of garments and beating fists on the floor until bloody.

When they break, they break good.

Back to my original point: I am a product of this upbringing, so I don't know how much I'm in denial about the potential problems and stresses around me and how much is to do with the things my mother taught me about trying to get back to normal asap. This wasn't the only view in the household, of course. I'm not really going to go any further, but let me say this: my parents have very different ideologies when it comes to handling stress.

Weighing up both viewpoints and how they are reflected by society, I find myself detached. How do I feel right now? I don't feel anything. I don't feel like a victim. I don't feel like a survivor. What is there to survive? My culture encourages me to turn problems into dramas of daytime soap proprtions and then gives me conflicting advice on how to deal with them. Honestly? I really feel like this is just another moment in life that is less than perfect. I'm not wallowing in self-pity, but I'm not pulling up my socks, either (well, only once when I put them on in the morning). So, why write about it at all? Don't think I haven't second-guessed my writing as self-indulgent, by the way. The answer's actually fairly simple: I feel like I want to write because if I don't do something other than mooch around the house, I may die of boredom. Right now, this is all I can write about. Once it's cleared out, I can write about more frivolous things like AIDS and famine.

Until there's something worse, something concrete and fixed and with no discernable way out, I will continue to accept that there are some things I can get angry about and change and some things I cannot. Why tilt at windmills? I don't know if that's stoicism or defeatism or nihilism or some other ism. That's life. Normal service will be resumed shortly and we apologise for the delay.

Adventures in Wonderland Part I

Denied access to the outside world, I yearn entertainment. DVDs aren't going to cut it anymore and there are only so many flies I can chase around the house with a zapper before I start to get bored of insecticide.

Thus I found myself taking up Katey's challenge. She had suggested I go on Second Life to actually experience it. So I did. The next few days will be a kind of diary of what I see and do on there. For the record, I do not understand code or what the hell skins and avatars mean. This could be torturous.

Anway, I found the site and went for the girl next door character. I didn't think I could pull off a CyberPunk personality, though I was tempted to masquerade as someone completely removed from myself. However, I didn't think I'd find it very enjoyable if I had to try and remember to act a part whilst navigating this world.

After a few hiccups with installation, I found myself plonked online in a giant castle designed to help out newbies such as myself. This amounted to me owning a chainmail shirt (for when you really need some dungeon porn outfits?), taking a photo of me with blank, white eyes staring back (I hadn't mastered the appearance bit) and giving myself a tremedously huge arse (art imitating life).

I played around with some settings, ended up naked but then finally got my clothes sorted out again. I think I now have a pair of black trousers on...a shame the arse cheek of which has what appears to be a white "Hello Kitty!" logo on it. I then, through trial and error, found myself at Waterhead or Waterworld or something, along with similarly bemused avatars wandering around.

Instantly, I was confused. I could hear noise, like people's conversations. I walked around, collecting notecards and the like to gather as much information as possible. However, to paraphrase Shakespeare, they often signifyed nothing. At least, nothing immediately useful.

I have found flying to be quite fun. It's the closest I'll ever get to being a superhero. However, I haven't mastered the art of landing. Oh, I can use the "stop flying" button all right, but I have a habit of using this whilst at great heights. If my avatar were a real person, it'd be long dead, a corpse I insist on chucking from high altitude.

Right now, I'm back at the Waterhead area listening to two guys discuss the Tree of Life and Christianity. It's weird as it feels like I'm intruding. It would be something I take more seriously, but I keep hearing "boing!" and "woo!" noises in the background. Oh and some douche is shouting at them, "STOP BREAKING GOD'S LAWS!". Now he's screaming like Tarzan.

I've joined a couple of groups: I'm in a writing group, belong to an indie nightclub, visited an art gallery and even went to see a Star Trek museum (best not to ask). I'm actually beginning to understand why people like it on here so much. You can do whatever you want, whenever you want. I wonder, though, if I only feel like this because I can't do this stuff in real life right now.

I'm still too scared to talk to anyone yet, though, thanks to Tarzan out there. We'll see how it goes...

Pope Idols

One problem I've had recently (I have many, all small and pointless as is the way with the middle classes) is working out where I now fit in to what Bill Hicks called his "favourite sect". With the apparent resurgence in Catholicism (thanks to immigrants bringing their Catholic beliefs with them), my own faith has been playing on my mind. I have always said "I'm Catholic", but it seems a knee-jerk reaction rather than a statement of identity, an automatic response built in to me, like "It wasn't my fault", "You look lovely" and "This isn't blood, it's paint".

Faith is a strange thing. All power to you if you have it, by the way. I'm not knocking it. I'm talking only about how I make peace with the Catholic Church. Other people derive great comfort and support from religion and Catholicism and fair enough, frankly. I'm not arguing to convert people from their own point of view, merely trying to work out mine. Also, the church bake sales can be pretty awesome, so it can't be all bad.

Back to my point, though: does religion have a shelf life? A "Best by" date? I'm talking about an individual's ability to claim membership to a certain religion, not whether religions fade out of fashion (Kabbalah, I'm looking at you. Friendship bracelets won't cut it anymore). Can you ever completely leave the faith you were born into? I was brought up as a Roman Catholic. I went to a Catholic primary and secondary school. I received Holy Communion in a nice little white dress (in retrospect, it's a little creepy dressing up as tiny brides for Christ because it makes Jesus seem like a big ol' bigamist paedophile. I said seem like. Well, if I wasn't going to Hell before, I am now). I went to church every Sunday, despite my insistence that what was really better for my soul was watching Pob's programme on Channel 4; eternal salvation can't compete with a spitting puppet in the eyes of a 6 year old child. My Catholic credentials are pretty well-established.

But, to be or not to be Catholic...Technically, I'm not sure I am still a Catholic by rules of entry alone - I never got confirmed. I suppose you could liken it to being a regular at a club, but then suddenly becoming established by having your name appear every night on the guest list. I'd like to say my lack of confirmation was because I struggled with deep ideological conflicts, but in reality it was because I was a teenager rebelling for the sake of it. Look, drugs and drinking were out because other family members went there, did that and got buried in the t-shirt, ok? This was about as extreme as I could get. Plus, have you ever tried dying dark brown hair a bright blue shade? It doesn't work. Renouncing my faith seemed like an easier option.

What should really get me struck off the Catholic guest list is that a lot of my personal opinions clash with the Church's stance. I am also decidedly not religious. Don't get me wrong, I'm well-versed in Jesus and his adventures (coming soon : Super Jesus - Blessing the meek! Feeding the poor! Fighting crime!). I agree with the idea of a god being made flesh as I believe divinity is to do with the soul, much like Hindus believe the soul cannot commit sins as it is divine. However, to work out what I'm supposed to believe as a Catholic and how it differs from Anglicans, I had to look some stuff up. By the way, for those not in the know, here's a quick guide to bluffing you're a Catholic (besides looking really guilty all the time):

a) Transubstantiation - the belief that Holy Communion actually turns into the physical body and blood of Christ when you eat them.
I'm with this until the cannabilism kicks in. Surely they meant it as a metaphor? This is like those people who believe Jesus was a magician who fed the 5000 with paltry supplies when actually it's more a parable of miraculous humanity and generosity as people shared what supplies they had amongst themselves to feed each other.

b) The Catholic Church sees the Pope as their authority whereas Anglicans/C of E are excommunicated.
Whilst I don't have much faith in a religion formed on political grounds (or so Henry VIII could go on a European "Spring Break!" style hunt for wives), I can't exactly have any more faith in a religion led by a man holed up on his own in Rome, left behind in a world constantly moving forward. At least Anglicans are trying to progress (see women bishops at the moment).

c) The Catholic Church believes good acts help get you into Heaven whilst Protestants don't.
I'm a bit torn on this one. Whereas I agree with Protestants that good acts without selflessness and honesty behind them shouldn't go towards your spiritual score card, I also agree with the Catholics that this doesn't mean you shouldn't do good works at all. The problem is that it's kind of an enforced charity - without good works, you can't get eternal life. However, I am of the view that enforced charity is better than none at all.

I have no problem with helping the poor and your brother and so on (until they start expecting it. Then you never get rid of them. Ever tried walking down the street followed by begging lepers? Ok, me neither, but it's obviously the inevitable outcome of committing any good deed). My problem is with the Church. It's a strange and faintly ridiculous beast. For example, how am I supposed to go along with a religion which tells me that gay people are ok, so long as they don't have sex or fall in love? How am I supposed to take seriously the advice that contraception is not allowed when said advice comes from a celibate old guy wearing a pointy, phallic symbol hat? If you want unnatural, there's little better example than a bunch of men forcing themselves to give up sex.

For inspiration to struggle against our sins we must go to church, something I should do but don't. Attending church happens only on special occasions, such as Christmas and Easter. I go more for the feeling of celebration, to be honest, as well as the free chocolate (at Easter. During Christmas, we get free babies). One Religious Education teacher told me that we have to attend church once a week for a spiritual "top-up". I wish he hadn't made the faith sound more like a mobile phone card than an answer to humanity's problems. I haven't gone to church for months and don't feel lost in life. A religious upbringing has helped me question everything, which can only be good (unless you're one of my friends pleading with me to shut up and sleep before you try and gag me with old socks). The problem is I don't think I can find answers in a weekly hour-long mass where maintaining the status quo is the order of the day.

So, can I still call myself a Catholic? If I adhere to the teachings alone, I guess that makes me a Christian, but not a Catholic as I don't recognise the authority of the Roman Catholic Church. I like the label of lapsed Catholic, though. It makes me sound like I've mislaid my faith in a sock drawer, or something.

My friends tease me about my religion by saying at least, as a lapsed Catholic, I can recant on my deathbed and become a fully licensed Catholic again. The problem is that you have to mean it. I think that's one of the more misunderstood things about the Catholic Church. You can't just say, "Whoops, cut my wife's head off. Sorry!", recite three Hail Marys and expect Heaven's Gates to open if you aren't truly remoresful. Plus, the wife will probably up there, pissed off with you, and who needs that hassle? Bring on the soothing comfort of fiery, pitchforky Hell.

It's odd that I have this problem with the Church, especially as it's given me such a fond identity: guilt-ridden, sin-loving, much-repenting me. I debate everything because of the dogmatic teachings of my schools (complete with Stalin-like slogans painted on the walls of the lunch hall - "JESUS IS THE WAY AND THE LIGHT! HIS IS THE ONLY WAY! EAT BROCCOLI!"). I am instilled with a firm sense of social responsibility. PLUS I can make fun of Roman Catholic habits and get away with it because I am "one of them" (however, it turns out priests don't have much of a sense of humour when it comes to altar boy jibes - it also turns out they're bloody accurate shots when they have a Bible to hand). It's not been all bad.

All in all, I don't think you're ever truly "free" of the religion you're brought up in. How can I be when it was such a formative part of my life? I find little habits from it cropping up in my mind, such as trying not to eat meat on Fridays or blessing myself whenever I walk past a church. That's why I'll stick with the "lapsed" label - I was one, can't deny it and wouldn't want to. It's a part of me. But I'll never be a true believer for one big reason alone: the majority of my friends are sinners in the eyes of this religion because of who they are (my friends would probably raise a drink to that, actually) . And, in all fairness, they've been of more support in times of need than the Catholic Church. They can also handle their drink better than the priests I've known, which is always a plus if you want an injury-free evening (ever seen a priest glass someone using only a Bible? It ain't pretty).

So, though I know the door to Catholism is held open with an expectant (and somewhat patronising) belief that I'll eventually return, at least now I'm staying away more from what I believe in than because of teenage angst-born contrariness. Forgive me, Lord, for I lack blind faith. Thank Christ.

Life, Jim, but not as we know it.

Reality versus Virtual Reality. The great battle or the great evolution? This possibility has been lurking in my mind ever since I heard of Second Life. You see, Second Life fascinates me. I am something of a Luddite when it comes to technology and it physically hurts to try and comprehend the concept of Second Life.

I had an interesting discussion with a friend of mine a moment ago. Realityman came round to visit and I promptly mind-raped him with discussions on individual free will versus the expectations of society while all the time he was dying to go to the toilet.

A part of me knew that he was in pain, a part of me which giggled as he continually crossed and re-crossed his legs out of politeness.

Anyway, moving on from my sadism, we eventually started talking about Second Life. The reason this particular area interests me is that I am increasingly of the opinion that this is an equally valid universe, as real as this one.

I don't participate in Second Life or Metaplace or any virtual world, so my assertion may seem strange. However, during my discussion with Realityman over why people log in and live online, I asked him what people on there actually do. He informed me that there are people who actually discuss their first life and others who resolutely refuse to allow their first life to interfere with their Second Life (or is that the other way round?).

This made me curious. I always thought that Second Life was a way of escaping, like a holiday from your real life, so why take it with you? Then it occurred to me that, even when you go on holiday, you take yourself with you: your neuroses, experiences and unfortunate reactions to spicy foods are all there as you bask in the sun of a far-off land. The same could be said of Second Life - we cannot change ourselves completely.

So, what about those who do live a different life online? The ones who pretend to be dragons or elves? Runescape's 130 million users shows that there are a lot more of these people out there than you'd expect. The appeal may be primarily that it is a game, but the chance to immerse yourself in a world so completely different from this one can't be dismissed as its selling point, either. I realised that underneath the scales and giant ears, these people must have the same personality traits. I have never understood the phrase "act out of character" - if it was outside of your character, how could you do it? What people really mean is "exhibited behaviour not commonly shown by that person". Virtual worlds, for the online pixies and lapdancers, are a means of acting out this side of themselves (I'm sure there's a part of everyone which just wants to swing round a stripper's pole, by the way).

What I was debating with Realityman was why Second Life couldn't be thought of as a real life, to define "real". He argued that reality for him was being able to interact with real people, for the five senses to be stimulated. Try as you like on Second Life, a virtual stripper isn't going to be quite the same as a real one - if porn is a poor substitute for sex, imagine how an awkwardly gyrating lapdancer compares.

I tried the Socratic method and asked him why this made Second Life less real (it might be noted that the Socratic method is to constantly question in order to create debate and expose nonsensical thinking. It should also be noted that Socrates was not a popular man and was eventually sentenced to death by his own hand. Well, if you had a small child constantly asking, "Yeah, but why?...Why?...Why?", you see how long it takes you to get annoyed. And Socrates was a full grown man doing this to important politicians. My point is, I expect my use of his methods to make me unpopular). Because I very much believe there is an argument for Second Life to be considered "real" life.

The idea that Second Life is not real because you can't taste or touch is a valid point. We learn by crashing through the world and recording it all through our senses. My argument is that Second Life is just a different kind of real. We experience things in this life through our bodies - in Second Life, we experience things through our computers. Both are instruments controlled by our brains, minds shut off from the environment around us. We just register the information in a different way.

At this moment you're probably thinking, "How am I shut off from my surroundings? Look, I can pick up this pen. See the pen, going up and down? Up and downy, up and downy... There you go then." But we are cut off from our environment. The person you are in your head is very rarely exactly the person who walks and talks and orders take-aways from the Spice Of Life. Thank Christ, frankly - if I said precisely what I thought all the time I'd have been hung by mobs some time ago. Well, I'd at least have been excluded from certain social gatherings. Oh yes, tea parties are my bitch.

My point is that the only thing making Second Life a fake world is our belief that it isn't real. This isn't the point where I ask you to clap to resurrect a zombie Tinkerbell. Realityman said that you could have a fully fledged existence in Second Life, but only if you could become two different people, keeping the two worlds separated so that each experience in each world was segregated from the other. That way you keep separate identities. But don't we already do that? I have many different parts to play, but only feel "real" when with my friends and family. So, is the me at work a complete fiction? Do those I teach have a fake education because that's not really "me"? I might add that, with the amount of students I have who continue to need support despite (or because of ?) my teaching, this may not be a bad argument.

So, why can't the me in a virtual world be just as real? All I'm doing is interacting in a different way. Hell, if I choose to be Shemale, queen/king of the androgynous Malipi elf clan (it could happen), why isn't that real? I'm not talking online game worlds - there's already an acceptance that those are just for leisure, for fun. I'm talking about the people who choose to live as a character online. Because it wouldn't just be in my own head - there would be people out there participating in the same world, showing an acceptance of this life. Very sexually confused elf people.

We decided that this life, the one you wake up in, go to work in, argue with the wife in is real because this is the one in which we feel love and pain, but mostly because of the latter. We measure reality by how crappy it is - it if hurts, it's real. In Second Life, there is no disease or war (perhaps there will be one day - we take who we are with us, after all) , thus it cannot be real. Or maybe this is just a reality where terrible things don't have to exist, at least for now.

Perhaps virtual worlds don't demand as much emotionally, but this could be because we haven't learned to do that yet; we're badly judging things by standing the worlds side by side. Compare the pain of a papercut to the pain of breaking your leg - well, sure, the former is going to seem insignificant compared to the latter. Doesn't make it any less real, though, does it? Maybe that's the same for virtal worlds; perhaps they are poor versions when compared to this life, but that doesn't mean they are less real. For some, it may be the case that they only feel alive when in the virtual worlds.

Eventually, perhaps some people will choose the virtual worlds as their only reality. After all, reality is what you make of it. But then where would you escape to - Real Life? Holiday from your perfect existence by pretending to be an accountant working in a shitty cubicle for an unsympathetic boss. WorldOfShit.com - there's potential there, you know.

Give me something to care about...

I found myself trolling through the BBC news website today. It's one of my few means of contact with the outside world, short of getting my parents to venture out in search of information I desperately need (e.g. "What are this season's fashion must haves, Dad? I SAID WHAT ARE THE FUCKING MUST HAVES?!! Oh, for Christ's sake, WHAT ARE YOU CRYING FOR?!! I will cut you...").

Of course, I don't ask my parents to do that (replace "this season's fashion must haves" with "today's important news stories" and it's pretty much the same, however. Mo-fo's.) as I have the internet for my main source of information. That sounds like a contradiction in terms. If anything, the internet often brings forth more questions than answers (such as, "aren't facebook friends just like imaginary friends i.e. people not even you see properly?"). However, news-wise I always rely on the good ol' Beeb for updates.

I was having a look around it today and realised I was actually looking for something to be angry about, like seeking out and talking to a hippy who believes regressing to the Stone Age is progress (they're out there and they live in Witham. I'm not kidding you, this is a town whose Green Party wants people to use public transport but won't allow more commuter car parking to be built at the station because...it'll encourage people to drive. That they're going to the train station so as not to drive to London or Chelmsford is apparently a moot point).

Back to my point (I'd say to be concise, but it's because my legs ache): as my last rant demonstrates, I love to get angry. I was surfing the BBC news website to find things to react to. Let's face it, there's a lot of stuff out there: the horror that is Zimbabwe; Gordon Brown telling poor people not to be poor (an actual piece of advice my sister believes in - "if you don't want to be poor, stop fucking complaining and earn some money then." Ah, New Labour: thou hast cast a plague on both my houses...); the US and Israel wanting to bomb the crap out of Iran; Big Brother still being in existence...and so on.

What surprised me was not that I was looking for trouble. This is not a revelation - who doesn't love getting annoyed about something? Complaining is the great British pastime, but the greatest British pastime is complaining and then doing nothing constructive about it. We all need a release and getting righteously indignant about something, anything, is the way most of us do it, be it moaning about the latest rubbish sport result to bitching about the friend who just happens not to be there at the time (yeah, I'm talking about you). Being judgemental is in our blood, but maybe that's the jaded lapsed Catholic in me talking. Accepting others, now that takes work.

However, I once heard a saying and it's very true: opinions are like arseholes - everybody's got one. The problem is, I noticed I have been missing this for a few days now (an opinion, not an arse, thank you. I am well aware of that part of my anatomy having landed on it whilst rapidly descending the stairs a few days ago). I have found that if you remove yourself from the outside world, you suddenly don't think about it. Your universe becomes the four walls around you and whatever funny email forward you get sent. I forgot all about the horrendous attacks that happened in Zimbabwe that, at least a week ago, had so incensed me. I had forgotten all about the fact this country seems to be heading toward economic implosion on a Death Star level (almost - do you know how good other people's misery is for house-buying prices?). I had even forgotten that people we now refer to as "characters" were still humiliating themselves in the BB house for the bread and circus crowd.

I like to think I'm not heartless (the only true part of that sentence is "I like to think") and I'd like to think that my behaviour is common. We can only invest emotionally in so much at a time: family, friends, partner, work. I'm almost suspicious of those who cry hysterically over minor events, such as the deaths of beached dolphins - surely there's something better these people could be doing like, I don't know, not turning a depressing event into a Biblical tragedy (Hark, tis the 4 dolphins of the Apocalypse and their blowholes are the trumpets sent to level Jericho's walls!). I like dolphins, by the way, but I'll say the same thing I told my Mum when she made us go to Princess Diana's funeral: "Yes, it's very sad, but how much am I meant to cry over someone I didn't know?"

I suppose my real point is that disconnecting ourselves isn't the worst attitude to take - it's often the only option we have and we have a way of using it. My Dad suggested setting up a fake charity where you show upsetting adverts on television comprised of various, completely unrelated images (a kitten stuck in a well, a boy crying over spilled sweeties, a grown man weeping against a photocopier) and then asking people to send money to "end the suffering". The idea would be that the suffering in question would be that of the distressed, erstwhile viewer who wishes to make the nonexistent cause go away using the least demanding means - chuck some money at it. It's not a terrible thing to do. People need that money. But we only think about them for as long as it takes us to read out our debit card number. Then they quickly drift to the back of our minds behind the phone bills and costs of nights out.

So I stand here, wondering whether I only care as much as society dictates I should. Isn't it terrible, we're heading towards a recession and oh my I can't believe he used that racist term and how much cheaper are baked beans in Asda's compared to Sainsburys? (answer: lots).

Should we dedicate our lives to the well-being of others, though? Didn't work out so well for Gandhi, did it? Being able to fill your own salt shakers isn't payment enough for assassination, frankly. I think the sensible answer is "are you mad?" We walk a fine line. I knew someone who tried to save everyone he met. He was a good man, but it wore him down and pretty much killed him, in the end. You can't take on the world and expect to come out of it ok. That's what heroes do; we're just human beings trying not to fall over the edge.

I'm not going to say "the answer is to do more about stuff!" because that's hardly original. A blog isn't going to change galaxies (hey, might as well think big). I'm not going to say "the answer is to only care about what matters to you!" because then that really cuts you off from the human race. We're all so connected and yet so alienated from each other as it is. I guess my main rambling argument is this - do you ever ask yourself why you care? Not whether you should or shouldn't, but why? I have absolutely no idea why. But I do - only when I've got the spare time, though.

Only forward

My Dad said a funny thing to me today. He said, "This is all going to go to shit, isn't it?" All right, it's not that funny, but I never promised you flowers, either. Get used to it.

I need to write and, at the moment, this is my world, so you'll have to excuse my self-involvement. I'll write about something worldly-wise in a while and I'll try not to get too weepy. I don't have the energy for it, anyway. Also, I'm writing this standing up, so I'll be concise. I'm not giving a standing ovation to my computer, by the way. It's because I can't sit down. An operation has left a nice little wound just beside my tailbone so my options are standing, lying on my front or lying on my side. The last two are not conducive to computer use.

FYI, I slipped down the stairs yesterday. Maybe five or six steps, but I landed on my arse for all of them. On the area where I had surgery. If I go for pain, I go all the way, baby.

Anyway, after composing myself from weeping in the foetal position, I fell into talking with my parents about moving house. We've been talking about little else since then. Today, my Dad was talking about the complicated moving house situation as they've now decided to move as well. Basically, my sister and her fiance may buy Mum and Dad's place and they, in turn, will move to a brand new block of flats. It all rather depends on my sister getting the mortgage sorted and that's what my Dad was talking about.

We fell into talking about the whole situation and it became apparent Dad really wanted to go. When I asked him why, he said that it was time to move on. Our house is too big for just them and it was the family home...now the family is moving on. Well, my sister will be setting up her own in a while and I have dibs on being the crazy spinster aunt.

It made me realise that I am also going to have to move on. I can no longer be the bumbling sister/daughter. I actually have to take responsibility for stuff, like bills and mortgages and possibly a cat or twenty. There is, of course, a part of me that just wants to say 'Fuck it, we're done for, I'm getting the hell out of here', before jumping on a Harley and riding off into the sunset. And, of course, I won't do that (for one, I think motorbikes are scary and secondly, I still can't sit down).

How I handle this new tranisition comes from my parents - I'm the product of them, after all. Like my father, I don't value possessions (make all the jokes you want about lost dvds - now you're never getting them back). They're just things. My mother, on the other hand, hoards like crazy and so do I. But I collect things of sentimental value. Somewhere in my room is a box with old birthday cards, tickets from gigs and other assorted stuff which holds fond memories. So, leaving this house is a bit of a strange prospect for me. Sure, on one hand, it's just a house filled with things, but on the other hand it was my home and I won't be able to go back to it again.

My parents both grew up poor yet their views are very different. Mum holds on to things because there could always be a use for them - never throw anything in the trash (unless it's, well, garbage). It's her way of being secure. My Dad, however, sees possessions as pointless - they can easily be taken away, so why try and hold on to them? Each of them understands that nothing is guaranteed and each deals with it in their own way, Mum by trying to be uber-prepared (the girl guides could learn a thing or two from her) and Dad by accepting that you can make plans but fate is indifferent and having a 42 inch plasma TV won't protect you against that. (However, he does accept that it would be cool to have one).

So, my opinion is to wait and see. I'm moving, there's no doubt about that. What happens after that is partly up to me. I believe in free will. However, I also believe that, sometimes, life will take me away from the places I wanted to go and the things I wanted to do. Accepting that isn't defeatism - it's just the way it is. I have absolutely no idea where I'll be in two years time, let alone five (the term of a mortgage I'm looking at). I do know that, whether I like it or not, I can't go back anymore. Only forward.