Damn lies and statistics

I'm contemplating having a lurker amnesty one of these days. Or weeks. Where, for a limited time you can declare yourself as a lurker, make yourself known, before scurrying away again to lurk.

I used to think a lurker was a type of dog. I was probably thinking of a lurcher, and there's not many of those hanging around here. However, statcounter does tell me that there are quite a few lurkers, from various, far-flung destinations.

I don't know if you count as a lurker if you are openly a "follower" on blogger, yet don't comment -- like a heap of people are on my Peru blog -- or if you have to be truly anonymous.

Either way, I heart my traffic widget -- it's like footprints in the snow (or maybe ash, depending how you see this blog), telling me who has passed by, where they came from and where they went to. Even if I won't know who they are. Setting up one on my Peru blog was a real surprise, there were visitors coming from all over -- including Brazil, Croatia and others I'd expect, like the USA, Australia and Indonesia. Traffic here is much quieter, and less cosmopolitan.

I'm a complete nerd and more than a bit obsessive sometimes about my visitor stats, which is why I love statcounter. I adore the "recent visitor" map, I've tried setting up guest maps on blogs in the past, but I never got an accurate picture of who was visiting. The map on statcounter literally just pins people down like butterflies, and helpfully groups multiple visits from the same city. I'm such a geek that I smile as I recognise some IP addresses from previous visits, and occasionally can point to what IP address represents what person.

The most interesting part is the "exit links", it might be fairly self-explanatory how one visitor or another ends up here, but it's where they click to next that really interests me. It's a great way to find new reading, either the blog of your visitor or of someone your visitor likes. Sometimes patterns emerge, and...yeah I have way too much time on my hands.

For now, I am going to hold off on the lurker amnesty. I guess some people have good reason to want to just lurk -- maybe they feel you should speak only if you can improve the silence, or just have nothing to add. Perhaps they like to just be an unobserved watcher. Or it could just be laziness, like it often is with me... Either way, sometimes maybe it's best not to know -- after all, who would want to have a delurker week only to find the lurkers were all in your head?

Action is his reward

I stopped taking my tablets. There usually comes a time about once a year that I decide to go it alone -- that whether or not I feel I need some sort of supplement or whatever, I usually come to some sort of a decision to break free.

This time I've been lucky. The tablets weren't a prescription medication so much as a herbal alternative, and the withdrawal has been much easier and less severe than previous times. I don't know how long these things take to completely leave your bloodstream, but in the past if I've forgotten them for a few days I'd notice a difference, so by now I should be clean.

The reasoning why I've stopped is a little harder to explain.

Since I started this job back in October, I've been on emergency tax, and so been paying out far too much to the Inland Revenue. As a result of this and things like Christmas I've had less money than I'd have liked. I've got a large-ish credit card debt to pay, since in December I had to pay for almost £700 worth of repairs to my car to get it roadworthy, and I'm saving money to get me to Australia this year. When I got paid this month, I must have already been £400 overdrawn on my account, so once I'd paid money for bills, rent, food into my joint account with the girl, I didn't have a whole let left. At first I thought what I did have would be plenty -- then I realised it still had to cover all my own personal expenses for things like mobile phone bills, car insurance, dental insurance...

Not wanting to be in debt again when I get paid next month, I've started to look into my options for earning some spare cash -- just to take care of the little extras. One quick way to earn a lump sum of money seems to be clinical drug trials. Does anybody remember the incident a couple of years back then the volunteers in a drug trial all suffered horrendous consequences and terrible pain? As a result of the media coverage from this nasty accident, volunteers for trials have actually increased -- because people have found out how much you can earn by doing them. I spoke to someone last week about a trial that would have paid about £1,500 for only three nights. This is above average, but just the same -- being a human guinea pig could clear my credit card debt, buy my ticket to Australia, and still leave me with some left over for my monthly expenses.

Unfortunately, I was discouraged from taking the day off to go for the screening, because I'd mentioned on the phone I was taking these tablets, and then admitted to a history of depression. They thought such details would probably preclude me from the trial. So I'm now talking to other companies doing similar trials, and lying through my teeth about my history -- and have stopped the tablets. To be fair, I was worried how exactly I was going to manage to take them every day when I was thousands of feet up a mountain in the Andes, this coming June, and I'm interested to see if my new exercise regime will take their place well enough.

As for the exercise, I've become one of those crazy people who go the gym before work. It's weird, one day I was laughing about the very idea of getting out of bed earlier for the gym, then I ended up with a personal training session booked for a morning, and I was hooked. It's so much quieter, and the endorphins really set me up for the rest of the day. I'm now going about three times a week in the mornings, going to group classes in the evenings on at least two of those days, and fitting in more visits in between.

It's amazing what some kind of goal like the Inca Trail does for my motivation -- just wanting to be fitter, happier, look better in t-shirt only gets me so far, but knowing that every little bit of fitness will help me to enjoy Peru even more really spurs me on. I'm lifting weights, going to 'balance' classes for my core, my balance and my coordination, going to cardio 'body combat' classes again for balance and core, along with that important cardio health, and making random visits to the gym to tackle their punchbag when I have really shitty days. I've even started having dreams where I retreat to the quiet gym and a punchbag when things get to me.

For those that don't know about or don't read my Peru blog (which has been recently updated, following a despicable lapse), my fundraising to date has reached £2,100 -- and with more money promised to me that I haven't collected on yet, and another money-making event planned for before I leave, things are looking good. I see no reason to rest though, and want to raise every last bit I can. I'm currently hitting up local purveyors of hiking equipment to see if they can offer me any support, and wondering if I should cast my net wider still.

Oh my goodness, oh my soul

Over Christmas, I dreamed I was possessed by an evil demon.

It might sound funny, but it was quite distressing, at the time. The girl is always concerned when I have bad dreams, and I think she thought me a little strange when I asked her to reassure me the next morning that she didn't think I was possessed. The lovely, obliging girl indulged me, but with a bit of a strange look. I guess it's like dreaming you're a penguin, then asking your partner to confirm they don't think you're a penguin. Or something fictional, like a unicorn -- since to me those are about as real as demons.

It would be slightly inaccurate to say I grew up in a Catholic household. I didn't. My parents sent me to a Catholic school, and attended church weekly -- although with decreasing frequency as my brother and I got older. But I don't think they ever believed it themselves, they were just repeating their own upbringings. Just the same, I was quite a literal child and always expected God to speak to me. I expected to physically hear God's voice, out loud, and I remember slight puzzlement that it never came. A lot of the parables I heard at school I took completely literally and on face value, so I think in some ways their messages were slightly lost on me.

I'm sure that my own Dad became entwined with God in my developing mind, as it must do with so many others (except with their own Fathers, it would be creepy if everyone associated mine with God) -- something I strongly disagree with.

As I got older, I stopped expecting to hear the voice of God. But in my teens I became convinced on a number of occasions that God was telling me things. I didn't hear a voice and believe it was God's, but I had thoughts or ideas and I believed them to be divinely inspired. Which is weird, since I had a very on-off relationship with any sort of belief. I would believe that God wanted me to do things like go to war-torn former-Yugoslavia to do aid work (thankfully not missionary work), or sometimes that I should go without food, or that I should hurt myself.

There were other times when ideas would come to me -- such completely abhorrent things -- that would seem so completely outside of my own thought processes, that I wondered if there really could be something outside of myself, giving me these thoughts. I wonder now how quickly a doctor would have put me on anti-psychotic medications if I had thought to tell them. Or anyone.

It worked the other way, too -- I have always felt as if anything creative came from outside of myself, short story writing sometimes felt more like automatic writing, I had no idea what was going to be written until I wrote it. The mind is a curious and mysterious thing.

I was left feeling distinctly uneasy following my dream of demonic possession. I didn't like to see my reflection, the dark circles under my eyes reminded me of my own evil reflection I had seen. At least if you dreamed you were a penguin someone could give you a mirror and a picture of a penguin, and leave you to work it out for yourself from there.

Many people still do believe literally in demonic possession -- feel that things like alcoholism or depression or self harm or drug abuse or murderous rages are all caused by an evil spirit, hitchhiking on our souls. My friend Jon was one of those people, to an extent -- until he abruptly lost his faith last year. His family's bookshelves contained modern day accounts of exorcisms and possessions -- you'll be glad to know I never felt compelled to read any of them. I'd be interested to know what he makes of them all now.

I watched an exorcism live on TV once. It was broadcast late one night on Channel 4, and had been debated and vilified in the press for weeks. A man suffering from various problems and who had been exorcised before (in part, it seems he had a lot of uninvited guests) was going to be 'cured' right before your eyes. It spent ages building up, then cut to an ad break. Before it restarted after the break, there was a warning that the following could contain distressing scenes, people of sensitive dispositions should turn off, all that kind of thing.

The exorcism itself lasted perhaps 30 seconds, and was less distressing than most kids' tv programmes. In fact, nothing appeared to happen. Words were said, hands laid on, then it was over -- "Do you feel better now?" "Yes thanks, I'll get my coat" was essentially it. Even the presenters were left a bit not knowing what to do next. All that was left was to try and fill the remaining time with debate and scientific analysis -- an EEG analysis of his brain was looked at closely, and a small spike of activity was identified as the exact point that the evil spirit left him.

I think they'd been hoping for screaming and spitting and shouting and...other things beginning with the letter S. The sufferer admitted that, yes, it was quick and uneventful, but that previous exorcisms he'd had were much more exciting...

You'd have thought he could have at least put on a bit of a show.

I want to live my life not survive my existence

So here we are, 2009.

It's time to take stock of where I am and where I'm going, but hopefully not so much of the looking back over where I have been.

I start this new year living with an amazing and wonderful girl, in our very own (rented) house -- the first time I have lived away from home since I was a student. I've curbed my impulses to try and turn the house into a mini art gallery of my photography, with the philosophy that less is more and all that -- plus nobody wants to see you endlessly stroking your ego, in the living room.

The house has its good points and bad points, but most important is that it is our space, where we can shut the door and escape the world.

In 2008 I had a bunch of goals -- rather than resolutions, it's what all the cool kids are doing these days. I aimed to get a new job, to move out of home, to travel to Spain and learn to speak Spanish, and I think to learn to snowboard properly. I own my own board, and I can't even turn properly -- so I can carve up a storm downhill and look damn cool with it, but I am in trouble with corners, with bends. That one never happened. I tried to sell the board, and failed -- this happens every year.

I started the new year working in a book shop, and enjoying it -- I loved recommending books and authors to people, enjoyed literally running off up the stairs to find something, and lived for the occasions when someone would ask me for the poetry section. But the money was bad, there weren't enough hours, and it being only a seasonal job I hadn't learned how the novelty would wear off. Furthermore, there was nowhere to "go" with it.

When they called me one day and offered me a permanent job -- incidentally, the day of my aunt's funeral -- I turned them down. Mostly because the hours were bad. But part of me must have hoped for more. So I got that "new job" in fairly rapid order -- I went to see a recruiter, told her to find me a job, any job, went to an interview the following morning and started work right away. I was taken on for a 6 month contract, and was still working there 10 months later. I went four countless interviews for something better, and in the end didn't go any further than the other side of the office -- swapping a dull job in Purchasing for a more creative and interesting one in Marketing & PR.

I think we can safely say I beat that goal into submission.

I tried to learn Spanish, but motivation was lacking and I ended up with a Latin American Spanish course. I write this one off as a half, since I am able to order food and drink in Spanish, say "I speak/understand Spanish" very well, or a little, and the usual greetings and farewells. Needless to say I also went to Spain. The girl and I are regular customers here of the local tapas restaurant, and I long to take her to Spain.

And as mentioned at the start, I did move out of home. It took a new job, a tax rebate and a wonderful girl to help me do it -- but we did it together.

Where do we go from here? 2009 is a year of adventure. Anyone that's been here before or spoken to me for more than a couple of minutes should remember I am going to be hiking the Inca trail in Peru in June, raising money for Macmillan Cancer Support. A couple of years back, I talked to a friend about doing it and doing it for charity -- but they said why bother, just raise the money and go on your own steam. I am glad that I decided to do it for charity after all -- but that's probably because I'm an attention-seeker. I am being healthily sponsored by my company, and have in turn been generating the publicity for them. But the Inca Trail isn't a goal -- it's happening, even if I have to be carried on the back of a llama, stinking of piss. That's either the llama, or me.

But what is a goal is to get fit for it. Properly fit. The fitter I can be for it, the more fun it will be -- completing it just isn't enough for me. If I can look great in a t-shirt while I do it, even better. I've rejoined the gym, and as of time of writing I am still in pain from my personal training session yesterday. My next is Friday morning, and I fear I am going to become one of those crazy people who hits the gym before going to work in the morning.

Speaking the language would be helpful, so I may also have to get that Latin American Spanish course again -- although apparently if you speak Castilian Spanish they understand it just fine, but think you sound all posh like a news-reader.

There is also adventures to be had in Australia, since the girl returns home to apply for a new visa this year -- and I will be joining her out there for fun times, before the two of us return, shivering, to England. Again, something I already plan to do can hardly be a goal, can it? But saving the £700+ for the airfare should be. I also plan to try and wheedle my way into an upgrade, but we shall see how that works out.

I've only been in this job since October, so it's too soon to be considering getting another -- although I am only contracted until October of this year, so I might not have a choice in it.

A year without any incidences of self harm would be good, as I can't remember a year since I was in my mid-teens or younger that there hasn't been an incident or two, though in more recent years it has got a lot better -- to be able to start 2010 saying I didn't deliberately, physically hurt myself the previous year would be good, although a little sad. Perhaps a goal should be to treat myself better? No doubt having rigorous exercise regimes and goals like Peru will certainly help, not to mention the love and support of the people around me.

And in closing, ladies and jellyspoons, my goal in 09 is to be more creative. Last year saw me take up painting -- if only for the one picture. But to conceive of and create a dramatic picture on a canvas, and then to have it exhibited as part of an art show, was a real achievement -- but my creativity is seriously lacking this year. I haven't done open mike poetry in years, let alone written anything new, and that epic zombie apocalypse masterpiece isn't going to write itself. But generally, I need to be more... Actually, no -- that's it, I just need to be more.
I want to live my life, not survive my existence.