Humble

Humble; not proud or not believing that you are important

Strange, I never knew the actual dictionary definition of humble was that, when I first read it I thought that can’t be right, it sounds negative. Not to be proud – feeling proud makes you feel good and warm inside right? Not believing you are important – well that’s just being a plain silly Billy talk but I guess the explanation is inverted in itself if you look hard enough.

I feel very humble tonight for various reasons, I use it in the context that I’m very lucky to be living and breathing all the good and the bad things that drive along Lotty Road and knock on number 2 Lotty’s house. I’m a true believer in that there is always someone with much worse situations and bigger problems than your own; so even when there is a dip in the road of the life that is Lotty’s I always think’ for fuck sake pull your head out your artistic arse and get on with it’ It usually works, I have a busy but very cushy life compared to most. In my work I meet a lot of moaners and I’m like the big fuck off fire hose on their flames of complaining; the best thing to do to a moaner is to smile and say something positive, it floors them completely; you can see the complex puzzled look on their face – try it, its great.

I guess it’s my optimism in full force, sickening I know and don’t get me wrong I love a good moan myself…that’s what twitter’s for isn’t it? It really is the place I only ever really moan, I’m sickeningly bright and chirpy most the time; only when I’m in a certain mood and get quiet time to myself I start thinking too much and get melancholy. I guess that’s therapeutic in itself and everyone needs that.

I rarely get bored though, hardly ever; but strangely when the social worker asked me recently (adoption social worker, I’m not in care or anything) what my hobbies where, I had to make some up on the spot (I don’t think she believed me when I said Olympic high jumper, not with these short arse legs anyway) I guess my hobby is my work, I’m blessed that way. So what keeps me amused? That’s easy, myself and my mind, my thoughts, my take on my life, on this life, on this precious life we have. My thoughts usually take me around the world and back again and then they happily curl up under a duvet and rest for hopefully at least six hours. My thoughts as everyone’s I suppose are similar, some complex, some simple, certain things grab my mind and fiddle with the workings like a child that just has to touch things in a shop. People I meet, things I see, sometimes even something I see every day and I start thinking about how it got there and how long it’s been there and how long will it be there when I’m not – see shit like that, your catching my drift now and probably falling asleep. I don’t blame you I bore myself sometimes. Maybe that should be my new hobby, helping people to sleep by writing endless tosh about the workings of my mind; I’ll ring the social worker tomorrow and get her to add it to the list.

Until next time kids; thanks for reading, oi…fucking wake up!!