Apathy Jack writes:

This is more of a livejournal thing, sorry, but it's also intended for some folk who don't read said journal, so if you don't know me you can probably ignore it...



I’m pretty badly burned out right now. For several weeks, I’ve been working to future-proof my now ex-students at Hoodrat, and now I have to learn the new school from scratch. I don’t regret my decision for a second, but not a day goes by that I don’t miss that ridiculous school with such a crushing sense of loss that I can’t even put it into words. I haven’t told anybody just how badly my last day there messed me up. I’ve been wandering around for over a week now feeling like some kind of rubbishy science fiction robot: I understand, in the abstract, human emotion, and feel it myself as the script dictates, but do not understand how to process it properly.

Short version: I’ve been even more solipsistic than usual recently.

Which brings me to the subject of my birthday.

I hadn’t planned on alerting people to the fact of my thirtieth, because, honestly, I didn’t want a fuss made. While I am, undeniably, a big guy with a loud voice and a predilection for talking in monologues, that’s always jostled for psyche-space with an acute – if inaccurate – view of myself as Hugh Laurie described his father: so unassuming that he would spend all day searching for a queue so he could contentedly stand at the back of it. I spent most of the day leading up to my “surprise” party wishing people hadn’t put themselves out. Of course, when I was writing this Brain Stab post, I wanted a pithy way of implying that it was a time of change and reflection; using my thirtieth birthday (which actually hadn’t featured that prominently on my radar) seemed a more concise way to evoke that than a long-winded and dull diary post.

Word spread, which meant a flattering number of texts and emails on said birthday; a bunch of people shoving presents into my hand as they called me a shifty bastard for not telling them; sundry blog entries passing on their wishes; and of course, the aforementioned soiree, which, let’s say, was a huge shock that I never saw coming.

And through it all I’ve been blankly nodding and muttering vague words of thanks as they floated out of the wreckage of my brain and labelled themselves as: Correct Response For This Sort Of Occasion. I imagine I’ve some off as a pretty crap friend.

I guess I just wanted to tell people that all of it did mean something to me. I noticed it all, and it really did mean a lot to me. My brain hurts tremendously, but all of the things you all said registered, and I’m sorry I couldn’t recalibrate my brain in time to express my gratitude at the appropriate time. You’re all special to me.

That is all.