Friday, 30 September 2011

I have a CAS...

...a fantasy. To help me through reality. But, this isn't ABBA. I actually do have a CAS. Cheers, guys.

Everything came through today, and it even looks like I'll be in Wales on the 12th October 2011, just three weeks late which, all things considered, isn't bad.

It's a funny world, though. In all of this, there have been dozens of people involved. People with the loan office, people with the admin office at my uni, people with the International Office especially. People, people, people. Hey, even I had a small part. But the thing is, the one who did the most, did the best, did, in a way, it all, won't ever get any credit.

I will probably never be able to tell him this in person. I'm just too weak. I'm too much of a brown turd. It's the way I've been for almost two decades.

I did my bit for the CAS; I did it a long time ago, and I sat around and waited. And I worried, and I made calls so that I could go to university because it was my dream and I wanted to follow it. The International Office and the admin office, and the loan office, and all the other offices did their bit for it too—and I'm the first to acknowledge it's been a pain in the rear and that Dr. Higgins and Ms. Brown have done above and beyond the call of duty for it. But see, they get paid for it. They might be personally invested in me, and I've no complaint to them—I love them. I really do. I have no such affection for the bureaucrats at the loan office, and maybe I'm not being fair, but they seem to have done a bit less than they're paid (by our taxes) to do. But, well, that's water under the boat. We've all done our bit, because we get paid to do it, or we get something out of it. Much as I'd like to think I did it for others, it was always about me. It was always about an education, or a job, or whatever reason those offices had to keep working at it.

Mainly, though, it's the Pops. Cause, he never got anything out of it, and he won't still—but from the very beginning to the very end, he made calls. And he gave money. And he gave time. And he made more calls. Then he yelled at some people cause I'm a wimp and I can't do that. Once that was all done, and he'd done everything that he could, he did it again, and he did it a few more times, then a bunch more, then at the very end of it he did it one final time and it came through and things happened. I won't ever thank him properly; I haven't done much properly at all in that respect. Everyone will be proud of me for what I did; they'll think the offices all finally pulled through and then God will get the credit from those in my circles. That's all good; it's fine, it's great. It's the way it is. I could change it, but I'm too weak.

Because it's well and good to do something for a dream. I don't recall the last time, though, that I spent that much time, money, effort, and ruthless persistence to fulfil the dream of a spoiled bastard who doesn't deserve a lick. Or the last time that I cared enough to do half of that for someone I loved. I would, probably; or I'd like to think that I'd like to do it.

It sure is a funny world. It's not a nice world, but it is funny. It's messed up, too. It's cracked, it is. All the same, whilst I wouldn't say there's hope for humanity, I suppose it says something about where you come from, and shouts something about what you've got to live up to. Well, what I've got to live up to. Here's trying, and failing. And the first few hundred times I fail I guess I'll just have to remember the dear old CAS.

Thanks, Pops.