Someone New, Something different:

(Trumpets please ... any second now ... okay never mind, fuck it)

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand just like that, it's been a year since my last post. Well well well, tempus fugit when you're avoiding doing something you really, urgently should do. At this rate I should be about ninety before I actually get round to composing The Great Scottish Novel that'll make me some fucking money for a change.

But I digress ... and therein lies the problem.

For the three of you (and you know who you are, don't be coy now) who have had nothing better to do than wait approximately three-hundred and sixty-five days for me to peddle some newly-written, nondescript drivel over your newsfeed: CONGRATULATIONS! You've displayed unwavering loyalty to this blog and learned a valuable life lesson on the nature of procrastination - on the nature of mine anyway. Hopefully you've used this time to reflect on your poor life choices. For everyone else who's decided to jump in, let me bring you up to speed. Quick recap:

1: This is a blog.
2: I write it.
3: I write about myself.
4: This isn't an original concept, but never mind that now.
5: I try to be funny about things that aren't very funny at all.

Here's a pie chart:

(It contains no information whatsoever, but I think it comforts people)

And for those of you looking for a synopsis:

"-I'm not happy so here's a webpage with my words on it, there's really quite a lot of them and there's even more inside my head bursting to get out, so we've got a lot to get through; this is myself described and tidied up a bit with all the bad parts carefully ignored or omitted so you like me more, where have all my friends gone, I'm not happy, I wish I could make friends, I'm worried, death is inevitable, death is inevitable, death is inevitable, maybe violin will make death evitable, and gosh look at me go I've really got a lot to talk about haven't I, my last job was shit, I'm not happy-"

Then silence. For twelve months.

Now for the longest time I've been meaning to engage in casual writing again, since that was what this whole thing was supposed to be about, and yet despite all my best intentions, every weekend I had free to actually sit down, chill out and let go came my way, something, some nebulous, halting feeling of numbness and boredom would overcome me. It turned the fresh white page of word processor into a blank towel, soaking up word after sentence after paragraph, first drafts hesitantly typed, examined and deleted again, a turn of phrase or idea set to text for scrutiny, then discarded. And for as long as I struggled to articulate myself, I struggled to answer why. I think I have an answer of sorts now. I dunno if it's any good.

( ... )

A lot of it has to do with the fact that I've gradually found myself becoming content with life again. I'll give you a second to climb back on your chair and read that again if you need to. 'That miserable bastard Henderson finally has NOTHING to whine on about?' I hear you exclaim, dumbfounded. Well believe me, I'm as shocked as you are. Can't go back and trace this thread to the seam. Nothing momentous occurred. No big revelation, no epiphany. I didn't scale a mountain, consult a hermit  under a tree, spot a tiny daisy clinging to the cliff edge and think: "Golly gosh, this whole darn life business actually jolly well worth living! I'm going to feed the homeless, save the whales, eat nothing but fat-free, fair-trade, organic lentils and spend 6 months in Asia 'finding myself!" No, the sensation stole over me, very slowly, very gently, like a changing of seasons, winter to spring, from within.

(Pictured: inner peace, tranquility, and some trees and shit)

Now a lot of different things have helped to give me this perspective. True I've had to repeat another year at university, and I'm living with my folks for the time being, but I've gained work experience, learned to look after myself a little better, saw a few good old faces who knew I was in need, and gave myself days to think about study, and qualifications and a career actually decide to do it for myself this time around, not as some stuffy grown-up stranger, but as myself.

And of course, I can't mention happiness without my girlfriend. (or I could, and end up seriously maimed, in whatever ward hospitals reserve for terminally short-sighted boyfriends) I have, with much trepidation, been able to love someone again, after I thought I'd had enough of the whole desperate pantomime. What a warn-down, clapped out, corny, cheesy fucking rom-com cliche that is, but I am hysterically glad it's happened to me. But Tessa and I enjoy indulging in cheesy, so long as it's private. There you are, why bother being ironic about it. Love is the same old cycle of biology that's turned since the misty Cambrian millennia of long ago, and will turn on and on until the last thing breathing dies. It's been around longer than you. It was a cliche to the dinosaurs. There's not much new you can do with it.

And this love has not been like an effortless fall, that way was lost to me forever. It's been like creeping downstairs in the dark, surprised by that sudden empty step. But that's good too. It feels adult: careful and cautious and rewarding. Tessa has helped me claw back so much, and I couldn't be more grateful. I haven't had much luck with relationships in the past, but I hope this new thing I've stumbled into lasts as long as possible. She really one of the most incredible people I've ever met in my life, and if not for her inexhaustible reserves of kindness and patience, I'd still be a broken man. There will be a much longer, much more flowery post devoted solely to her in the next week, and I hope to explore funny coupley-stuff more frequently in posts to come.

(The best Google images had to offer)

Anyway guys, THIS post has taken me some time to straighten out in my head, there's more to come, so be gentle with it. I'm out of practice, but high on material. There's so much to say and so little time. My last job, did I tell you about that? What about when I went on that holiday to Budapest? Good times man! Or when me and Tessa went to Bruges? Or halls in first year, or my job in Waterstone's and how the violin's getting on. What about how my last relationship ended, and how I struggled with self-loathing and doubt until I managed to carve a space inside myself to store the pain away ... and fuck, what about the time I threw up everywhere on a three hour long public bus journey?
Christ, where have I been all this time, where have YOU been? This is better than smoking, and I'm getting back into the swing. We've a lot of ground to cover, a lot of me to talk about and my disgusting ego won't feed itself ya'know. Pull up an internet. Let's get started. Normal services have resumed.