We're not on to the ups yet, I was so wrapped up in all that self indulgent crap that I forgot about one of the biggest downs of all. I'm really quite ashamed that I let it slip my mind you know. Whilst up in Blackburn I took the opportunity to nip over to Preston to the comic shop and I picked up the last ever issue of Harley Quinn. Maybe that's not a big deal to everyone else but it is for me, for three reasons. Reason One: I bought two comics a month, the aforementioned Harley Quinn and the fantastic Lucifer so now I'm down to one comic a month which pisses me off because I've got to find another now to fill that gap left behind. Reason Two: It was a bloody good comic you know, plenty of humour, great artwork and some serious ideas too (the whole is Harley dependent on The Joker and can she survive without him, backed up by the breath-taking graphic novel Tales Of Psychotic Killer Clowns And The Women Who Love Them, which looked at how she was trapped in an abusive relationship) and I think its going to be very difficult to find another publication of the same calibre. Reason Three: And this is really the most important reason on an emotional level, Harley Quinn symbolised my relationship with Kate. This is very nerdy and pretty damn pathetic but hear me out. I first met Kate around about the time of Issue 1 (a little after, but not by much) and the first thing we did together as a couple was to sit downstairs and read a couple of issues together. And now its over. The timing isn't spot on obviously but it was a constant if you know what I mean. I can't help but feel that I broke up with Kate, had three issues of "getting over her time" and then, that's it. The end of an era. The thing is, if that's the case then why don't I feel like I am over Kate? 31 Issues. The length of our relationship. Maybe I'm being really sad but it feels like both the women in my life have left me. Stupid I know, but...that's the way it is. I think the final couple of pages of the last issue sum it up too, it ends up back at the beginning. With Harley realising who she is and banging on the door of Arkham Asylum, pleading to be let back in. Kind of like what I feel like I'm trying to do with the Massive - let me in, I can't cope without you. Maybe I'm taking this whole comics as an analogy for life a little too far but there's definitely some kind of poetic parallell there. Isn't there? No, I think I am being stupid. I think I'm just looking for something to latch on to as a way of explaining it all. Dammit Harley, where are you when I need you?
Does this make me The Joker?
Time for a up/down thing now. For some of the brief time that Ben's been here this weekend we've played Smackdown on the PS2 together because he's a big fan of the game and he's pretty good. Not to be rude to the Massive but I kick all your asses at it. We've been getting into our competition pretty big, sending texts to each other along the lines of "I apologise in advance for kicking your ass" (his), "I've got a steel chair with your name on it." (mine), "I'm going to take that chair and stick it up your ass" (his) "Hah! I don't need a chair, I'll hit you with the Blackburn Slam and get the 1-2-3 in the middle of the ring." (mine) "Not only am I going to bring a controller but I'm going to bring a whole load of pain" (his) and my personal favourite "All you need to bring is the ass. I'll provide the whuppin'" (mine). So, eventually we got down to the games and we had a good match. Like I said, he's pretty good. OK, I was going easy on him and showboating a lot but he was still more of a challenge than 1 player mode. I was playing the role of the heel (bad guy for the uninitiated) and knocking the ref down, using chairs, getting my tag partners to run-in and interfere because that way its the most like wrestling on tv. I won the vast majority of the matches, let him get a couple but generally had the better time of it. Then (and he wasn't being nasty) he started saying things like "You're only winning because you keep on getting run-ins". So the next match came around and I didn't cheat, didn't use weapons, didn't call for any assistance I just let loose and gave him a Grade A, Top Notch, Gold Plated, Faberge Egg of an ass kicking. He didn't even build up his first finisher and I had 3. And it felt pretty good. I know I shouldn't gloat, or take pride in what I did but there was something satisfying about showing somebody the one thing which I really am good at. I like the guy you know, he's a decent fella but I guess there was something a little bit dark inside me that wanted to inflict a virtual beating. I think I took it a bit too far, refusing to win by pinfall and insisting on making him tap, using the most vicious looking moves in my arsenal and celebrating each successful Whirl Neckbreaker or Wheel Bulldog. Punctuating every Diving Elbow or Moonsault with a resounding "BOOM!". Driving him through the Spanish Announce Table with the Blackburn Slam (Ultimo Dragon DDT for those interested). Slamming him into every turnbuckle one after the other. As JR would say "For God's sake! He's had enough! This is just a beating! Stop the damn match already!" I really wish it didn't feel as good as it did. He took all my celebrations in jest and they mainly were, I was really playing the role of The Showboat JYD, the baddest heel to ever step in a wrestling ring. Unfortunately, there's a little bit of him in me.
A true up? Are we ready for one? I didn't know I had them in me anymore. Friday night, went to bed depressed. Woke up Saturday morning on the top of the world. Why? Because of a dream. I usually hate talking about dreams because I think people can read too much into them but this was one of those dreams that made sense (OK, there was a weird refrain in the middle with a swarm of zombie bees, but that didn't last long). I'm not going to go into any depth and describe every event in the dream but it was one of those that felt real, like it could have happened (with the exception of the zombie bees). The reason that it made me feel so good was that it was the first dream for a hell of along time that wasn't about Kate. It was also, well not an erotic dream (that term's a tad on the strong side and has a whole bunch of connotations that go with it) but a dream that involved a woman and some...passion is the word I'm looking for. It was as if me and Kate had never happened and there was just me and...I'm not going to say who it is actually. It made me feel like I'm not such a screw-up that I often believe myself to be (and the picture painted by this webpage no doubt) and that things could get better. I wish I could recreate that dream tonight although it might lose some of the surprise impact (both the subject of the dream and some of the events and reactions that occur in the dream) on a second viewing. I think the main thing about the appeal of this dream was its realism (again, forgetting the zombie bees) and that if those things happened in real life they would probably happen as they did in the dream, they weren't movie perfect moments as our brains often throw up to us as plausible. There really were elements of surprise, awkwardness and I have to say genuine passion. OK, this is all pretty vague but nevertheless there was something special about it, trust me. I think its given me a little self-confidence back. And so has this rant. Wow! I'm actually feeling better now. Rock on!