Razorblade Suitcase

So much has happened (most of it shit) but what I'd like to write about right now is that I have now moved into the spare room, complete with Manchester United "Premier League Champions" bedsheets from when I was 11 (thanks Mum) and POSTERS. If I am to get well again, I really will have to forget the last ten years happened, so it's kind of nice that my room almost looks like a worryingly immature 21 year old's.

During my clear-out, I found my "Alex's Crosby Stuff" packing list from Year 9. Mum used to make me write everything down on a check-list to make sure I brought everything back, which I failed to do. Seriously, right down to my Isotrexin spot cream. I smiled when I saw it because it reminded me how much my parents always strived to make sure I wasn't cock up. Again, I've failed often in this regard.

Opening the list is what is in my CD carry case, where an asterisk denotes that I am also taking the booklet. My music tastes at 13/14:

Razorblade Suitcase by Bush

6teen Stone (how I wrote it) by Bush

Pablo Honey by Radiohead

In Utero by Nirvana

Electro Shock Blues by Eels

Tellin' Stories by The Charlatans

Blur by Blur

OK Computer by Radiohead

I was actually listening to two of those albums earlier today. Well, tracks from. I need to start listening to full albums again. Whilst my tastes have evolved (incredibly minutely) from 17 years ago, the key to my happiness is rediscovering what made me believe in life back when I first found love (with music).

Also, 2015 was the first year since I started playing guitar that I did not change my strings, thanks to my utter poverty and also, clearly because I've fallen out of love with everything, which in turn causes my poverty.

Well, tonight I changed my strings (thanks to Lewis and his Christmas gift) and it feels fucking incredible.

It's funny - the shitty feeling I live with thanks to years of self-abuse and self-loathing - evaporated, for at least one night - all thanks to doing something I used to love and somehow forgot all about.

The future me must learn to love not only like I used to, but far more than I ever thought possible. I must not let the love my parents showed me go to, well, waste. Even though that it is not quite the right term. I'm not a writer.