Plaster

This was me this afternoon...

NEW TOY!

Celebratory Chandler Bing dance followed. Hilarity ensued. 

Ahhhh I love new gadgets. Let's get Blogging!

So I just wanted to make something clear. I love reading people's blogs. Really I do. There are some really talented writers and photographers out there and I feel inspired when I see/read a great post. I'm no writer, I can't compete with most Bloggers. This is my diary. I'm not writing this because I think I can write, or because I aspire to be a writer. I call it straight down the middle, and I tell it exactly how it is. I'm writing this blog for me, to help me deconstruct my thoughts and to make sense of the rollercoaster that is my life. This is a completely uncensored snapshot of my life and I'm not pulling any punches, so just a warning. if you're offended by talk of women, sex and drugs, this is not the place to be.

So last night I finally told Annie I was going to Boston to see Ella. Whoa. She did not take it well at all. She stormed out and I have not heard from her since. Bad times. But hey, it's done now. Just like ripping off a plaster. I hate upsetting people but she would have found out one way or another. I'm hoping she comes round soon and realises that she no longer has any say in what I can or can't do. I feel like it's a weight off my chest, although now there's this horrible storm cloud hovering over us, so hopefully we can patch that up soon. 

Last night, Annie mentioned in semi-jest that I need a fuck-buddy. The concept of having a friend with 'benefits' is, in theory, perfect for me. No commitments, no expenditure, and a chance to relieve some stress. In reality, and in my experience, it just doesn't work. You see, here is where I think I am different to 95% of the British Public. I cannot bring myself to kicking a girl out of bed. Regardless of who is round, I always offer them a brew, or I cook them breakfast in the morning. And after sex, I always like to lie there and chat. I can't help it. I guess being in a relationship for 4 years definitely changes you amd you get used to doing 'coupley' things. Sean on the other hand has absolutely no remorse and will happily kick a girl out of bed at 4am after the deed is done. He won't even walk her to her car.

The girls I sleep with generally get too attached. Take Emma for instance. Lovely Emma. She was my rebound after I broke up with Annie and within 2 weeks of seeing each other, she was declaring her undying love for me. Looking back at it, I definitely treated her much more like a girlfriend (like I had treated Annie) than a fuck-buddy. Playfighting, cooking dinner, baking cakes, going for long walks and copious amounts of cuddles. I guess despite being 23 and a half years old, I still can't master this 'being single' malarchy. It's like I am engineered to think and act like a boyfriend. It's all I know. Sometimes I wish I could just be like everyone else round here and sleep around without a care in the world. Or hook up with a girl and then not reply to her texts. Or sleep with someone and then have no qualms about later sleeping with one of her friends.

I'm just being myself though. I guess my parents raised me to have ridiculous strong morals. I've only ever slept with a girl and not text or rung her the next day once, and that's because I was stoned, drunk and at University, as was she. To this day, I have no idea what her name was. Apart from that, I have been raised to be a romantic fuck. Flowers, chocolates, songs, all that rubbish. 

Startling Realisation of the Week

Maybe I need to find myself a fuck-buddy.

So I think one of my major problems right now is a lack of self-confidence with regards to the opposite sex. I don't think the anxiety thing has helped at all. I really don't like the way I look and I don't feel comfortable enough to go out and talk to girls. I was watching an episode of The Glee Project yesterday (I do not hide the fact that I watch awful awful TV) and they were given the task of writing a word on their boards which they then had to wear around a busy shopping centre. The word had to represent what they were most insecure about. We had 'anorexic', 'fat', 'used' and 'numb' amongst others. It got me thinking, what would my word have been? Let's brainstorm:

'Numb' - I feel pretty numb. I feel like my past relationship sapped every last bit of energy out of me. It's hard to get motivated to do all of that again.

'Inferior' - I can't help but think "Why would that girl go for me when that guy over there is much better looking?". I am my own worst critic. I don't think I'm bad looking but then again, I don't think I'm a catch. Pulling a girl in a club is usually about looks, so I have to rely on making her laugh or being sweet, which is difficult when I'm lacking self-confidence.

'Different' - I feel like I don't really fit in. As I said above, I'm not only after sex, I'm not going to drink Stella and get into fights and I'm not going to wear Lyle and Scott polo shirts.

'Afro' - Because I have the most unmanageable afro hair in the world. It is my curse and the bane of my existence. Fact.

I guess this all boils down to a lack of self-confidence, and I need to try and boost this. I need to get on a hot streak.

Best Thing To Happen To Me This Week:

Yep, my ticker. It's been great this week. Hardly any palpitations and the breathlessness seems to be going away. I'm feeling flipping awesome and I'm looking forward to an intense gym session this weekend with Papa and Martin.

I'd really like to go to a Roller Disco. There's definitely not enough of them around these days.

So despite the ramblings above, I'm actually in a great mood this evening. I'm looking forward to getting out of the house/office and throwing down some crazy shapes on the dancefloor tomorrow night. I guess I just sometimes feel like everyone has somebody except me. Chris has Katie. Sean has Sarah. Si has Laura/Rach/Claire. Brad has Helen. Martin has Cheryl. Mark has Carlie. Fuck. There is an appalling lack of wingmen right now. But then again, none of them can say they have been in a four-year engagement. It's tough  getting back in the game after that, and this is the longest I've ever been single since I was 13. 

So I should wrap this up. I wanted to end on a song which has really grown on me this week. Hmm... let's think up an imaginative intro...

This Week's Most Stupendously Awesome Song That Helped Get Me Through A Week Of Monotonous Insurance Work

Luke

Also, if somebody could let me know when I should use capital letters for titles, I'd really appreciate it. This has caused me many a sleepless night. To my knowledge, you don't use a capital if its a little word, like 'a', 'of' or 'the'. But then again, I may have just made that up. I noticed the name of my Blog is 'I Swim For Brighter Days'. Should the 'For' be 'for'? No wonder I haven't become a glorified legendary Blogger yet, I can't even get my title right!

One

Today I am a happy bunny. I signed off my Sunday with arguably my favourite film, and then woke up this morning with a spring in my step. And ALOT of sweat. MY GOD. Today most of Britain was basking in roasting hot temperatures. I was between the doctors and the office. Grand.

I am now taking a very mild beta blocker for my anxiety, which hopefully should help relax me. One tablet a day. It's the weakest one they can give me, and I imagine it isn't far off a placebo, but I hope it helps. I refuse to be strongly medicated. I'm a Mitchell, we're made of strong stuff and I can beat this thing without walking around like a zombie for months. Anyhow, I feel good about the whole situation. I'm feeling good about myself and I'm optimistic.

One Tree Hill returned tonight. I specifically cleaned the living room and kitchen and timed my dinner and coffee perfectly. Decaf, of course. I can't watch my favourite shows without an immaculate living room. If I have any unordinary distractions in my line of sight, I can't concentrate. Sean's shoe horn had to be straightened. Who the hell uses a shoe horn anyway!? It was a great episode.

Pub Golf is on Saturday. If you're not aware of the concept of pub golf, it's our annual pub crawl with a twist. Participants brave/manly/stupid enough to tackle the challenge dress up in golf gear and complete a 9 or 18-hole course. Each 'hole' is a different pub or bar, and at each 'hole' you have a different drink which has it's own 'Par' - the expected number of sips it should take to finish the drink. If you can down the drink in less sips, then you are below par, and vice-versa. Here are the scorecards for this year's event.

I'm the reigning Pub Golf Champion. I completed the whole card with a perfect score (every drink in one) but that was last time. That was before Guinness and John Smith's were added. And I was in a state that night. With being on medication and still in recovery from Magaluf, I am tempted to take the ladies' card this year. We shall see. I'm just really not sure I can complete that men's card right now.

Anyway, to sign off tonight, I wanted to post a song. When I'm in a good mood, I am literally bouncing off the walls. Now, I don't shy away from the fact that I love all sorts of weird and wonderful music. One of my passions I'm well-known for in these parts is cheesy pop music. If S Club 7 comes on at a party, everyone looks around for me, because they just know I am going to be sprinting straight towards the dance floor and dropping some of the craziest shapes you will ever see. This song is one of my current happy songs. It's pure uplifting cheese, but it just gets me in a real summery, feel-good mood. And I love Kate Voegele. She's something special. Sure, I wouldn't listen to music like this if I had the guys round, or a girl for that matter, but on my own, in my own little world (or my own little blog!), this is foot-tapping cheesy goodness and I love it. I hope you listen to it and smile aswell.

Luke

Murmur

That's not even a nice word. If Doc is going to diagnose me with something, at least make it sound cool. Like Gastroenteritis, or Hypochondria. Murmur just sounds pathetic.

However, I am alive. And if my ECG and blood test results are anything to go by, I shouldn't be collapsing anytime soon, so I feel good. I still need to have an Ultrasound on my chest (I'm sure they called it something cooler than that at the Hospital but I can't for the life of me remember what it was) and I still need to take it easy, but I'm glad there's nothing wrong with my ticker. I don't know what I'd do without it.

So its Saturday afternoon and I've just worked my way through a mountain of celebratory cheesey beans on toast, and I am walking around the house trying to work out what I still need to get for Magaluf. I haven't had a workout for a week and a half and I still don't feel physically up to it, but I feel like I've lost definition and size already. Bad times. I always wonder whether women actually like muscles. Some women I've met love them, but a lot of women don't seem to care. I'd love to know what your opinions are, particularly my followers from across the pond. I picture all American college guys to be completely ripped jocks who play water polo. I might be wrong.

...

And it's now Sunday evening. At 23 years old, these hangovers are getting worse and worse. The 24-hour hangover is becoming a regular thing. What a fantastic night out though. And I hooked up with a gay girl, which I feel is quite an achievement. A UV bubble machine, my new Skechers and copious amounts of crazy green thick gloopy spirits make for one entertaining night. Good times all round.

Nova is back!!

Luke

Heart

Sheesh. I sure know how to jinx this Blog. There's me talking about a lack of life-changing revelations, and then BAM. Crazy things start happening. It's like the big man upstairs is reading this Blog and fucking with me. You crafty one, you.

So last Friday, at around 3pm, I had what I believe was a Panic attack (or Anxiety attack, I'm still not sure if there is a difference). I couldn't breathe and I felt like I was going to pass out. I was sent home and spent the whole weekend gasping for air and struggling to catch my breath after the most basic of activities such as eating a large meal or speaking a long sentence. But, being a Mitchell, I soldiered on assuming things would just get better in a few days. But they didn't.

So I get home from work yesterday to find the whole block has no electricity. After the initial excitement of the potential of an impending Zombie Invasion, it became clear this powercut was not one of the cool kind, particularly when the pneumatic drill decided to wake me up every ten minutes at 3am. Then, at just before 5am, the street finally lit up. And then the shit really hit the fan. The burglar alarm had reset and starting going off. And I couldn't find the reset code. So after 5 minutes of one of the most horrificly peircing sounds I have ever heard, I decided to cut the wire.

Stay with me. There's more.

8am. I'm outside the Doctors to book an appointment.

9am. I'm in Tesco replacing the defrosted contents of my freezer. The entire freezer. Did I mention I'm on a real strict budget with saving for travelling?

10am. Doctor's appointment. She whips out that crazy stethoscope thing. Turns out I may have a heart murmur. I'm sent for an ECG and a blood test, with the view to having an ultrasound next week.

1pm. I'm at the hospital. The doctor nearly had to shave my chest because the little sensor pads wouldn't stay on. IT'S NOT EVEN THAT HAIRY!!

2pm. Back to the GP to give her my results.

And now I wait, which is probably the worst part. I want to know I'm alright. I feel like I'm in limbo at the moment with the holiday a little over a week away and my attendance looking less likely by the day. No gym, no protein shakes, no beer, no cigarettes, no caffeine, no work. Just me, at home, with 6 One Tree Hill Boxsets to keep me company.

Wait. Why am I complaining again? :D

I'm trying to work out why I had the panic attack on Friday. I've come to the conclusion that it was lots of different thing. Stress from working so much overtime. Stress from breaking up with Annie last year and dealing with her mess. Stress from saving every penny possible. From worrying about what I'm going to do with the house, the furniture. Physical stress from the gym and the strict diet of massive amounts of protein and as little fat as possible. And that's just scratching the surface. It's weird though, I actually felt happy. The last few weeks I've been in a glorious mood despite all of the above. Very odd.

I miss Ella. She is in Istanbul this week. I think I'm going to go and see her in September in Boston. I figure, free accommodation, free cooking and free beer is too good an offer to refuse, especially when I'll be sharing that bed, food and beer with the girl I DEFINITELY AM NOT INFATUATED WITH. Definitely not.

Alas, I sit here with my green tea watching Red Dwarf feeling sorry for myself. I need cheering up.

Luke