If someone is struggling, don’t hand them a gun with a bullet in it. They might shoot you before working out it was meant for themselves….
My year has sucked arse with exceedingly hot chilly in it.
Cannot see kid, powerless and unable to make my own decisions on anything, getting fucken grief off everyone I know when I even try to do something half decent and every cunt out there remembers one little shitty thing, not a hundred good ones.
And, at the end of the day, we all struggle.
I admit to struggling more than ever this year. Age is a part of it, sore back, thinning hair, overwhelming sense of having missed life and love.
Have been saying this a lot lately… “I am fucked..”
And I am.
Bless me father, for I have sinned. Has been a whole life since my last confession… So here goes fuckall…
Started smoking again after seven years of non smokerville. Have a huge hole in me that am trying to fill with unhealthy doomed relationships… Can totally understand sex addicts… Put it that way…
Having moved out of the “big smoke” to a little place in the country ten kilometres from the nearest shoppe’s, loneliness set in, just like being stuck in a small flat by myself for three months. My only “friend” up this way soon turned into a stress. I only had her, and she knew it. Soon I did not want to see her any more as she was only showing up once a week to work on her car and then would not eat or drink water in the sun and refused to listen to any help offered. I met a friendly lady at the supermarket and found myself in a confusing old fashioned love triangle that should not have been. She swore black and blue she was not seeing the father of her kids. I don’t mind if she was just using me for attention from him. If only she would have been honest about it.
Having been just released from custody and being on twelve month intensive supervision through the probation service having a fight and ending up in jail again was not the best course of action.
But it is what happened. I am back home now, but with no friends or support within a 100km. The young girl has found someone else (not hard for a damn pretty and energetic young girl, let’s face it) and me, being me, is truly happy for her. Honestly, for so many reasons….
Conversely it makes me unhappy. She could be doing so many things. Creative and thoughtful things. But appears to be still too interwoven into “gangsta” land….. Never mind… Her life… Not mine….
So, father, I did some damage to someone. I don’t ask their forgiveness, but would like to apologise and try putting things right. The system (Police) just want me in jail. But how does that help the victim? I cannot do anything for them from jail.
So, life. Has gone WORSE to WORSE.
Am lost. Do not know who I am any more. If one person appreciates my efforts it astounds. One hundred good things are outweighed by one bad.
The scales of justice and human perception are truly fucked.
Therefore, so am I.
AFTER coming up here to escape drama and trouble, Narcotics Anonymous “re-acquaintanced” itself with my goodself. Have been to a camp out, and was really enthusiastic about a few of the smaller meetings in places like Palmerston North and Foxton. These have proven very useful to me, and me to them in some instances.
My higher power sometimes works well. There are multiple instances, but here is one…
A lady whom I really appreciate in her efforts with me and other struggling addicts fronted up when she heard the judge had confined me to my home, NOT to enter the local township (the only road from my place goes to the town, btw!) and that there was no provision for attending N.A or other supports. The judge, the police and the lying informants are setting me up to fail. This lady, same age as me (just saying) sends me a text saying she is at the Palmy North Christmas Majic show. Having nothing better to do for my happiness deficit that is life, I drove there. The very long way around so as to only skirt the local town by a few hundred metres, of course…
I get to the show and park right at the entrance, not knowing if it costs or anything. It costs $5 to get in, which I pay with a twenty.
I am thanking my higher power for cheering me the fuck up a little and show the couple running the stall my neck tattoo… My signature… For, fuck me and my higher power, the first stall I see at the show is this….
Yuhp. Go tell that to the grandkids.
But wait, there’s more…
Was not contemplating buying one of these things, but was interested enough to take the photo… The man behind me at the gate comes running with a new $10 note grasped in an outreached hand…
“Sir, sir – You dropped this $10 note”.
The sign said “THREE LITTLE ONES FOR TEN BUCKS”
So, thanks to the lady who runs the candy floss truck, there was some good to come of the day out the house. Upon my return to put the little shrooms next to some plants on my porch, the chickens ran out to great me.
“Food, food” they screamed in the annoyingI, for the first time in a month, found a nest full of eggs. 11 of them. Hidden between house and flowers – the dark patch in the picture…
Thank you for the Candy Floss and Foxton Fizz. You made my day.
I have been in jail for a short while, true.
Would love to have enough energy for the bother of converting the badly hand written dairy entries into something worthy of posting on this, the worlds shittest blog.
No energy can be spared. As I type this nearing 1am, the one eye is shut. The other thinks it saw a mouse scurry around the skirting. It may have. It may not have. There is little food in the house, so if there was a mouse, who cares? There are large stabs from the dull knife of mental pain.
The brain does not differentiate from physical pain and mental pain awfully well. Thankfully there is more than enough of both that the borders between the two are blurred. More than blurred – the effect where the cold southern ocean and the warm waters from equatorial pacific conjoin in a lovers embrace more sums up my existence within my 182cm, 81kg frame.
Jail is full of characters. Some very intelligent people whom are waiting trail for murdering some idiot.
One guy whom represented his country at war (a few steps above FIFA under twenty ALL WHITES for commitment) has a bullet wound or two. His two mates got killed each side of him. He was found unconscious by an American patrol. He had pulled his side arm and killed two people whom were intent on finishing him off. He came home to good old John Key’s New Zealand and ACC was too hard to deal with. WINZ weren’t helpful once he was out of hospital. His Dad died. His shot leg and head injuries cause a bit of issue. The shrapnel thrown off by the grenade that cost one friend the entire left side of his brain, skull and upper torso is throughout his body. He is in jail for robbing TV’s, stereos and jewellery from richer people than he. Some of them probably know John Key. Some of them definitely would know (or were) Military brass types.
I have the book rights. Thankfully for the world when you leave me in a cell with two or three people for an hour they will talk to me about PTSD, ADHD, DYSLEXIA, PSYCHOPATHY and, arguably, worse than the whole lot – ISSUES WITH THE MISSUS AND KIDS.
Addiction, mental health, bad luck….. To study inmates and their issues you really need to be an inmate. I have crazy stupid tattoo’s. I have few teeth. I have just enough intelligence to keep up with the clever and encourage the not quite so. Just like running the Mental Health unit Narcotics Anonymous meeting, I can not only empathise, but identify with these people and their plights.
There are some real stories there. Stories your average reporter would not find. Links between being locked up and your ex partner seeing you with a hotter young lady are obvious. But when you have been split up for ten years the Courts will laugh it this. I believe it. For I have had one or two myself.
After spending six weeks in jail throughout May and early June, I am sorry to report staggering examples of Police ruining peoples chances at life by spreading information unlawfully.
It could be considered worse than unlawful, for it is criminal.
WEDNESDAY, APRIL 29th
Police came to my house in some numbers and charged me with assault by way of issuing a paperwork summons to appear in court. Why they needed so many officers and why they acted so aggressively is obvious – They were trying to get me angry and acting badly so there would be a proper excuse for another arrest and charge – resisting, disorderly behaviours or similar.
After being charged with assault they rang the football club I was coaching for and told them that under no circumstances should I be allowed to coach football. I do not know what is being said, by whom. I do know that the football club is run by two ex Navy accountant types whom are probably good friends with the higher up Police… Maybe they all sit down at the Wellesley together and discuss issues. Maybe I was worthy of thirty seconds of their time as they nudge nudged and guffawed…
EMAIL FROM “L”TO ME, 3rd June 2015…“””Dear NZFIEND
I am writing to you with regard to your role as a volunteer coach for the Grade 11 _________________ AFC.
In my role as Chairman of the club I have received communications from Capital Football and the NZ Police that I am now burdened with acting upon. The advice I have received is that the club should not employ you in a volunteer role as a junior coach. While I am not in receipt of detail as to specific circumstances it is incumbent upon me to heed this advice because regardless of any possible militating factors the club cannot take any risk in regard to the way it manages pastoral care for junior members through volunteers.
As a result it is with regret that I must now let you know that your volunteer coaching role must end, effective immediately. I understand that the coaching you have carried out for the club has been enjoyed by the children in the teams with which you have been associated, and I thank you for the contribution you have made.
LS – CEO of the AFC“””
I have asked three times in writing for information regarding WHO rung the club and WHAT was said, but have not even received an acknowledgement of my request. I guess this is what you should expect from a bunch of high ranking military people and police.
If I am accused of being a paedophile or a danger to children, I WANT TO KNOW! I now have to use official information act and / or privacy act requests to find out what is being said, and whom is saying it.
Louis appears to have secret discussions with police…At the time of my ex partner getting ME arrested for assault, I sent her some text messages and commented on some of her Facebook photos with what I thought of her partner pushing me, trying to get me to fight him, and then ringing police when I didn’t take the bait.
At 9pm I received a text from a member of the football club saying that my daughter will not be part of the team any further as her Mum is taking her out of the team and not allowing me to see her. I send a text to my childs Mum…
4 May 21:31
Let ***** [our daughter] play football, she loves it.
About time you started doing what was right for the whole family we have, not just yourself.
You need to talk, but you ran across a field screaming like a stupid crazed animal and punched me 6 times.
You are stupidly carrying on [like] this.– direct copy of txt from cellphone
The neighbours come out to tell me the Police were there again. At approximately 9:35 pm I am talking to a lady police officer on the telephone whom says “MAN UP AND FACE THE CHARGES.” What charges? What are you on about? “BREACH OF PROTECTION ORDERS”
TUESDAY, MAY 5th
So, in the Police station, we have a video interview at 1am. I have been awake quite a lot with worry about the situation with my child and also have spent a couple of nights in others beds, so I am worn out and very tired.
The Police have lied the whole way through in order to keep me in jail. I was going to write exaggerated, as there are plenty of examples of that. But actual lies sum it up better…
The Police state that I knew they were searching for me, that I was actively running from them and they had to catch me. They state, in court documents, that I was actively hiding and taunting Police. I was, according to them, abusive to officers and was showing off that they could not catch me.. However, I had rung police every single day for four days and they would not tell me why they wanted me. I have told them about being assaulted and I thought that they may be serving me with Family Court papers. They finally told me what they wanted (breach of protection order for texting) and I told them to come and pick me up. In the end I had to jump out in front of the car and flag it down as they were driving straight past me. Yet the judge heard I was “evading and taunting police”.
I have recorded all these telephone conversations with Police and kept all text records.
After spending all day in a small cell out the back of Court1, Wellington District Court, I finally appeared at around 4pm. The Police were serious on keeping me in custody. The lawyer, KEITH JEFFERIES, proved to be the worst lawyer I have ever met. He did not come to see me with regards to the matter even though Police had given me new paperwork and what have you. He therefore stood up and even the Police prosecutor said “Keith is probably not aware, but here is the latest stuff….”I tried to enter a GUILTY PLEA to sending text messages so that they would have no further reason to hold me in custody.
The Police opposed my release from jail (even though I am 24/7 on ankle bracelet locked in my flat) as they claim the victims are so scared. These are the same people whom attacked me in the first instance. There was no fear shown there.
Until all of this happened I was seeing my daughter, was being as good father as I was allowed to be. We had a Family Court Order that intended we work together and move forward by ourselves after ten years of bickering. It had taken me a year and a half to go from every second weekend with my daughter to having Tuesday nights as well as every second weekend. Whenever the mother of daughter felt like it, she would take away this Tuesday night as “I only gave it as a good will gesture”. What effect does this have on our daughter? What effect does all of this have on me?
DEAD BEAT DAD’s have something going for them…
They get to keep a tenuous link to reality.
Even if they are in Australia,
not seeing their children
hiding from the NZ tax man.
Talking publicly may help. Other ways probably not so much…
Mr. Boulware was also involved in a custody battle with his mother over his 11-year-old son. A hearing was held last Monday. Ms. Hammond said in court documents that in the fall of 2012, Mr. Boulware “talked obsessively” about the mass shootings at the movie theater in Aurora, Colo., and at the elementary school in Newtown, Conn. “He claimed,” she wrote in court papers, “he had known about them beforehand because he had dreamed about them.” She also stated that he bought two new guns in 2013 and “began talking about getting rid of people he didn’t like.” NEW YORK TIMES <- click here….
That bloody mouse was real. Has taken twenty five minutes for my cloudy head to compile this post… The mouse, I feel, is laughing at me. Having sauntered across the side of my vision heading into my bedroom, it has had it’s fill of whatever mouse culinary delights abound within and jogged back, converting whatever protein it found into pure lean muscle mouse.
Waiting at Wellington Central #nzpolice for thirty minutes thus far. Am here to report an assault committed against me.
Unfortunately the mother of my daughter has decided to remove all access to my kid again. I should have had my kid last night. I would have been doing paper run with her.
But the mother has all the power and makes all the rules. She gives and takes as she likes.
Last night was great. An hour into football soccer training with ten kids aged ten or eleven, my daughters Mum and her partner (let us call him plank, or timber or some shit as he is a builder) went to take my daughter away early.
More in a minute, police here
Astounding me is the ability of service providers to tell the Government that health consumers are happier than ever (etc etc)… Apparently the consumers have a “strong” input into services and the changing of the way services are provided.
What a load of shit.
I get email from readers of my blog sometimes. And all the people I talk to on the street. I just got one such email from a guy “S” whom has contacted me before. We have all the same issues as eachother. As does other people. Mr “A”, whom really hates the services in Wellington and has talked about burning the building… Same stories. Every where. ALL THE TIME.
If only 1% of service users say “they are happier with the service” the Government will be told “more people than ever are happier with our services“. The truth is NOT ONE SINGLE PERSON WAS POSITIVE ABOUT THE SERVICE LAST YEAR. 1% NOW SAY THEY ARE “HAPPIER“.
This is a positive to the people that need the Governments money.
To the rest of us, it is a load of old bullocks.
Another person whom supports me and the crap I do has been writing.
Another “S” has been in Mental Health Ward again recently. He “suicided” late last week and was taken off life supports today. He is breathing for himself for first time. Send him your love.
All these stories just don’t stop.
They keep coming. And the way the service providers deal with them has got worse.
Yet, they must show growth in this capitalist world. And that they are.
All these stories just don’t stop.
Yet, I am the only one attempting to bring them to you?
My daughter was a ball kid at the big game on Friday night. Being parent helper was awesome too. Got a pass to go ANYWHERE in the stadium, but just stood on the field near the left hand corner flag. You can see me on tv replays filling up the back of some shots with computer game tattoo’d arms.
The best part of the night… The PHOENIX event organiser comes past and asks if the kids are behaving themselves.
“YES” says me
“Oh really, WHAT ABOUT YOU?” she says somewhat too encouragingly…
“ME? I feel you need to give my arse a decent hard slapping“
After a quick look of shock passes, “Heheheeh, you may be held to that….“
Made a new friend there……… A little worried the microphones stationed only a few foot away picked it up on TV broadcast. But hey, she chuckled without ill feeling when I mentioned that possibility and we really should have swapped numbers. Although that may allow her many beaus to find ways to smash me…….
I am having a TOTALLY SHIT DAY TODAY.
Sometimes I just feel useless. I saw less of my daughter over the school holidays than I do during normal weeks. Combinations of being arrested, other childrens’ birthday party plans and football have left me feeling lonely and useless. Some friends (girls mainly) appear to have ditched me having not replied to any contact from me… One girl I really like, for she really does think and help others, has flown the coup.
So, I go and visit Dad.
The same Dad whom always argues, always tells me I am wrong. Always told me I am ugly.
Just why I would go to my parents house for the first time in months when I need some family and love is beyond me.
What a fucken stupid thing to do.
Now am just getting through the day without doing anything stupid. When your definition of stupid has widened to include “getting out of bed” you know you’re in trouble.
Lucky I have a kid and no drug addictions. Means you just have to look positively.
Self harm is not beyond us. Any of us.
Twenty years ago I was involved with doing some of the first live internet broadcasts out of New Zealand.
http://www.racetothesky.co.nz was one of them.
MONSTA HAS JUST CRASHED OUT OF THIS EVENT.
I should have been there. But, then again… Maybe not. Running around these events, using drugs, perving and inhaling jet fuel…
Better off staying at home feeling like the world sucks.
For it does.
Told the kids that if someone took a corner kick, and someone else headed it into the goal I would buy everyone a chocolate bar. Thought I would be pretty safe… NOPE, a little 10 year old kid took a corner kick, landed it just in front on penalty spot where another ten year old was running EXACTLY as I had told them. And BOOOM… Beautiful header straight into the goal. Unreal. Stoked. Happiest guy, me.
And then I do this thing where I stand still and get the kids to boot the ball at my face. If they hit my face they get $5. The same guy who took the corner drove a shot beautifully right into my nose and top lip. I did lift a hand and punch the ball so it hit him back in the head. But hey, NO ONE has ever managed it before. And he had only started to learn drive shot technique two days ago with me. He also refused to kick with his left foot as it “was useless”. He is now, after just three or four hours with me and the team, using his left foot to chip and drive. Hasn’t got swinging or spinning the ball well yet, but—–
Teaching kids things and seeing it work is awesome.
Stuff what the parents think of me bossing their sprogs around.
My kid ended the training session when the other team played the ball too far in front and into her path. We had no goalies, but she put the ball into the exact middle of the goal, bouncing it on the goal line from about fourty metres. She just turned 11. Some parents and kids were surprised. Comments like “wow, there will be a few interesting goals this season” came from a few of the more knowledgeable crowd. I was more disappointed that the other team had given her the ball.
The team with the ball has the fun. So, once they stop giving it to the other team and find their own players, the coach stops interrupting and the parents may start understanding. Or not.
But hey, sometimes the kids have to actually have fun. And they manage to, despite the coaches constant interruptions.
By managing to spot some skills in each of them, we have a good little team structure. The autistic kid runs and tackles like a demon, so he has total license to run everywhere in defence. And boy, at training last night he did well. Just getting him to last a whole game could be difficult… Bloody proud of the little guy. He is fitting in well.
You know when I was a kid, the different ones got left out or teased. Nowadays kids seem to be more aware of others mental issues. I have seen almost all the kids cater to others difficulties. My daughter even gave a child a present once. Even though he had stolen her stuff and was a pain in the arse. She figured he wasn’t getting proper attention at home so was playing up and just needed to know people at school actually noticed him. My daughter was ten at the time.
So, I have my work cut out getting these guys to work as a team.
Kicking the ball forwards all the time, even though the other team gets it, is an issue.
“HEY EVERYONE. This is a bit like life. If there is a big mountain in front of you, what do you do? If you are walking through a city and a building is in your way, what do you do?”
Ten year old boy looks up, a look of “WOW” on his face and says “you go around them”.
“Yeahp, dead right. See that player behind you, that player has a way around the team in front. You don’t. That player should have the ball”
Some of the kids really started passing backwards, even though that is not what comes naturally.
We will win some games early this season. A bunch of small individuals working together to put a stupid ball in a silly net. Feeling proud of themselves and happy to see their mates and their parents giving them attention of the best sorts.
And the coach? Well. When kids do what he says and it works, he’s the happiest guy there. He may hide it until later, but the improvements in skills, running and positions does not go unnoticed. When kids do something awesome and they look at you for approval before they look at their parents it shows you’re appreciated.
Had a bath and went to sleep after last nights training feeling good. This should work out okay.
Even though meeting with the CCDHBDSM ADHD SPECIALIST tomorrow has my undies in a twist.
(they imported someone from Europe whom wants drug urine samples from me and has made me fill out a drug and alcohol self assessment… the writing is on the wall here. I think I am going to be shafted somehow this time tomorrow…. Even the mother of my daughter thinks I am vastly better with the ritilan than without. Which is true in the sense of dealing with kids and parents whom are from a different planet than mine…. Ah well.)
Kids football training leaves my back fucked. May just go get my back tattoo’s worked on and forget about everything.
Most of the kids I trained last year are in a team three divisions above us in the grade 11 leagues. If we win a few games and win one or two by big margins, we should be up in their league by the end of the season.
WHERE I REALLY WANT TO BEAT THEM
THEIR NEW FLASH FANCY PANTS COACH!!!!
Me? Competitive at footy? Nah… Never.
First game this weekend.
Am useless and down on myself quite a bit.
Cannot move my car parts, engines and the odd whole car out of peoples properties, can’t work on my cars and am sick of it. Seems that as soon as I start getting on top of things, the damn spine is out to get me. Evil bloody thing it is. Not that is entirely my fault the spine is crap in the first place. Who would have thought multiple motorbike crash at various speeds, including some quite high – (see what I did there, two birds with one stone and all that?)…
Went along to an N.A meeting two days ago. Was in the neighbourhood to visit something five foot ten, with legs and arse that would challenge mine for looking good in a tight black skirt (yeah yeah, send all the abuse, criticism and scoff all you like. Do your worst… Be imaginative. Draw some pictures even) when a bloody snobby nosed prick in a BMW cut me off. My god he was driving slowly. I thought BMW was the “ultimate drivers machine”. It turns out the boffins at Berlin Motorworx marketing department would not get their capitalist yearly pay increase by using a factual statement such as “BMW – ultimately for old drivers with heart machines”. One of these old geezers with a pace maker cut me off, and before I could control my middle finger, the old geezer turned out to be a character known to the good likes of I and Wellington in general. The N.A meeting is very near my friends house so, unlike me (for those not capable of reading sarcasm, that was a little example) I sidetracked to the meeting he was going to. It was a guys first birthday. Other people were there aplenty. Having met most of them before, I was not surprised when the first speaker babbled on with no discernable point at all for 13 minutes. He did this in his “bed time story” voice the ladies like. For there were some ladies present. The one opposite me openly scowled at me. She is the one whom always questions me about having had sex with a couple of N.A girl members and whom never says hello. I even say hello to her – she ignores me and puts me in my place with that nose turn up that only girls whom think their station in life is higher than yours can accomplish with any authority. But then she see’s me talking to a couple of guys she really fancies and comes up, all bouncy and smiley and says “HI NZFIEND”. So, I say “I’ve said hello already” and she gets all shitty with me. Odd world.
I kind of needed an N.A meeting– Have been taking way less than all the pain medications they are prescribing, but still. Am not in a great place. Have not seen my daughter for six days and it has been easter. I love easter and hunting eggs with my kid. Easter is the one time remembered as us kids being treated equal in my role as adopted sibling. (Not that Mum or Dad will ever acknowledge this)
So, am in pain, taking a few opiates and am quite bloody touchy and sensitive. If it happened to be my one year clean birthday I would have liked to have been asked to speak at the meeting. But the chairperson got “Mr Slow and Pointless” to open and then got “Mr Complete Do what I say, not what I do” to close the meeting. Birthday boy has shared with me many times how he hates the guy doing the closing speech.
My head is telling me —
ALL THESE PEOPLE ARE STILL SO FAR UP THEIR OWN ARSES THEY ARE NOT EVEN THINKING OF OTHERS IN THIS SMALL CLOSED GROUP. HOW CAN THEY THINK OF THE COMMUNITY AT LARGE, THE PLANET OR IMPROVING THE HUMAN CONDITION?
Seriously, that is what I am thinking. One guy sitting in front of me, whom is pretty much always the first to jump in and shout out “Hi, I am ______, and I am an addict” as soon as the chairperson opens the floor for the general riff raff to speak, jumps in to speak before the chairperson has even finished the last remnant syllable of “the floor is now open…” He talks about a guy who tried to commit suicide by jumping in front of a bus.
“This guy tried to commit suicide by jumping in front of a bus” says this guy “the thing was, the bus was doing ZERO KILOMETRES AN HOUR.” (pauses whilst waiting for the hordes to errupt into thunderous laughter for his astounding comedic speech and subject matter are deserved at none less than the Royal Gala. Or, perhaps, more Ricky Gervias at the Acedemy Awards. Taaaaa-dddddaaaaaaaa, thump. A couple of snickers from the more emotionally deprived members, and a sneaky smile from the lady sitting opposite who maybe quite cannot get her head around the fact I do not find her appealing and have never made a move on anyone at N.A. Ever. Full stop.)
This sharer continues to tell us the tale of the guy who stood in front of the bus screaming that he wanted to be run over, and the bus driver would shout at him to get out the fucken way. According to the speaker this was worthy of humour as it was a rather interesting “game of chicken where neither was moving at all” (again, thankfully, the meeting did not erupt into fits of laughter). “It was over when this suicide guy sat at the side of the road with his head in his hands crying his eyes out. Everyone on the bus laughed at him. But I didn’t“
As the meeting had been showing signs of being about empathy I could not suppress a cough of the most incredulous nature at this. Only just managing to resist the urge to interrupt and tell the room what wankers they were for not helping others (they say stuff like “I don’t want to get involved helping so-and-so because it will not help me with my recovery), I made sure I was next to share.
For those really interested in their own recovery – Please define, very carefully what you are recovering from, and what you are recovering to. Simple answer is to be a better person in all regards, and all your affairs. Being so self centred and greedy for your own recovery that someone actually kills themselves or goes back to drugs due to you turning your back on them makes you a complete asshole.
“Hi, NZFIEND, Addict“, as usual not waiting for the “HI NZFIEND“, I just pile on the next paragraph…. “Happy Birthday… blah blah blah… If I was on that bloody bus, I would have empathy (really identified, to be fair) with the guy and would have GOT OFF THE BLOODY BUS AND TALKED TO HIM. Just five minutes out of my day to see if he could be pointed in a better direction. MAYBE HE NEEDED A BLOODY N.A. MEETING? I would have been five minutes late to this meeting by getting off the bloody bus and maybe helping out a guy intent on suicide.“
But the N.A meeting doesn’t care. I am talking quickly and making many points. They cannot comprehend. NZFIEND must be totally fucked up on drugs. He is not thinking of others by talking quickly and getting through many subjects – it is a large meeting and many many people want to share – NZFIEND is just wasted on drugs, not “in recovery” and, therefore, not worth listening to.
Is SUICIDE worse than DRUG ADDICTION? Can you possibly be “in recovery” from suicide? How about looking at people worse off than you. No one is ever going to be perfect. No one is ever going to “recover” from addiction. You are always “in recovery”. But that doesn’t mean you are no longer a self centred ass wipe. I would ask AMANDA CUMMINGS for her point of view, but – oh damn – too late. She killed herself by stepping out into the path of a bus.
They cut me off after three minutes thirty. But, didn’t I just hear Mr Sloth himself talk about nothing in a bed time monotone for thirteen minutes? Here I am telling the world how teaching kids football soccer is actually teaching them all about life, and the chairperson cuts me off in no uncertain terms.
Luckily I have just enough feeling left in my legs to walk out sans stumbling.
You know that is the best thing..
Knowing your legs have gone numb, you might fart and piss yourself standing up, but managing to make it out the door without losing too much dignity?!
In their eyes, probably just drunk. Or totally fucked up on something. Or something.
So, the group of N.A people close ranks and exclude the acknowledged fuckwit once more. I sure hope Mr Savage doesn’t rip off anything I said and claim it as his own in the future (as he has in the past…) Someone should teach him some ethics.
But even with all that failing, and feeling completely down on myself… I go visit the tall blonde lady, whom gets a few of the N.A boys reversing their cars when they spot her legs. Really don’t think they were reversing to say BYE BYE NZFIEND. But, maybe they were….. A nice young lady I know cheers me up when one N.A guy says “what’s up NZFIEND” and I say “nothing.”…. She says “NOTHING INDEED, YOUR COCK IS NOT UP MY ARSE, COME ON, HURRY UP, LET’S GO” and started slapping each other on our relatively lightly clothed bottoms….
So, was starting to find my natural silly sense of humour and twinkle. Rapidly. Being in too much pain for satisfying hanky panky, home beckoned loudly.
Received a text or two, an email, a phone call. From parents of kids in my football teams. Some from last years team. Some from parents of kids I have not met from this coming winter team.
They know the coach is “bit sore”. They don’t know about Cauda Equina
or how lucky their coach has been throughout his life of non stop stupidity.
They know the coach has had issues of various kinds, they know he speaks his mind, he has always been up front and honest with them and their kids. He is not afraid of anyone when it comes to standing up for his team, or the players of teams they come up against.
The parents have sent odd messages such us “damn, our kid, xxxxx, is not in your team, hope he has a great coach like last year“… “my girl is a bundle of fun and energy, but no one can ever teach her anything, for some reason she really get’s you, she has learnt she can apply herself, THANK YOU” … “we owe you Tony for all your hard work and dealing with those awkward parents“….
People say it is not just about the football. I say it is.
If I can teach a totally autistic kid, who does not communicate, how to kick a ball reasonably well in a two hour training session with other kids, I reckon that my life is bloody well okay after all. And the kid is genuinely happy, encouraged and proud of coping with something new. His Mum has been in contact a bit, full of beans about the simple fact her kid is stoked to be taken seriously and not put in a box in the corner. Am so glad to be me sometimes.
Have been trying to convince a very nice young lady (herself a NZ FOOTBALL rep, co-incidentally) to help coach sometimes. She has earned my total respect and amazement for the way she jumped in and helped me when noticing things that I struggled with. Real things. Like, with her around, I did not have to ask for my keys as she carefully watched where I put everything down. She saw my cars and instantly started making lists “for us to get both cars up to scratch”. We were an asset in each others lives, and could have been more so. I am sad she had to run away from the Wellington scene. But totally understand. She was going through some stuff which she would not share with me. She sent me a message on Facebook last night – You are one of the best and most reliable and trustworthy people I have ever met. You are so cool in so many ways, remember that. I just think sometimes you are badly unlucky. She did not even know I was feeling down. She is on the same wavelength. Promise you.
I disagree. Sure, am unlucky sometimes. I don’t think the young lady fully understands the term “I should be dead”. Many times over. A little risk management going in my favour have meant two arms, two legs, two eyes, two ears and half a working brain are all still mine to own and abuse. It could be worse. I don’t know of many fourty something guys with little hair, no teeth, pimples and a “character nose” (at best) whom have had the honour of spending time with the likes of her and others.
We have football training today. In three hours. The coach is having trouble getting shoes on, so it is lucky he still has no football boots and is comfortable playing in bare feet. He has managed coaching a training session in worse shape. But not with a bunch of new players and brand new strange parents. The parents will probably think him stranger. Guess they may have a point.
If I let the kids play a game for an hour, my back will “warm up”. Am sure of it. A little worried to be fair. Last couple of days have been crap, but then I think of all the kids. I think of the parents appreciation. I think I do a good job in a hard environment with no money, no real support and no instant reward.
And then I think it is all about the football. Spine or no spine.