Bear blog

I'm terribly depressed after just finishing reading Donna Tartt's 'The Secret History'. It's all about murder and deceit and pain and anguish and suicide and all things Greek. It also sparks thoughts about how healthy and productive relationships with friends are/can be.

Last Sunday, when Pete was taking the car to pieces, I was sat in my friend's house watching Sky (read watching wrestling) and I saw Shawn Michaels for the first time in years. It suddenly occured to me that he wasn't a young man any more, which makes me incredibly sad. I'm not sure why. It's not because it reflects my own ageing. It's probably something more along the lines of the fact that, having held him in such high esteem for a good portion of my life, it hits home to think that he's going to get old and die pointlessly like everyone else. And that means that there's nothing that makes anyone more special than anybody else, despite what we'd all like to believe. We're all chaff.

I've also been thinking recently about how little things can affect you for the rest of your life. To carry on the theme, because I had an affection for Shawn Michaels when I was 12/13, who I saw as a masculine, well built, charismatically arrogant man, now that I'm older the only men I could ever have an affection for are-you guessed it-masculine, well built and charismatically arrogant. If my affections are so easily manipulated how transparant am I in other areas of my life? It gives me a terrible sense of incapacity.

People are trouble.