Just think about it for a moment, how many times have you watched a TV program only to feel totally let down by the ending. All those weeks you’ve given it your time, your attention, you’ve been patient when it’s thrown you red herrings, fed you a line, you’ve stayed faithful. Always tuning in, ever hopeful of finding out the true meaning of why the damn thing ever got past the first cut. Then nothing. It just ends. You’re still unsure who was telling the truth, who should be trusted and who was just there for the ride. You then begin to doubt the storyline, did you understand it properly? Was it a drama, comedy or one of those new docusoaps? Come to think about it what the fuck was it even about. You then decide to watch it again from the start, determined to pick up on what you missed the first time around. No matter how many times you fast forward and rewind the damn thing it still plays out to a disappointing end.

Endings are good for us, we need them to move on, but only if they are good endings. Endings that give us closure, make us feel that we are not sad it has ended, but we are glad it happened. Moreover, we need answers, reasons, the whys, and wherefores. The building blocks that allow us to understand, to make sense of our situation and to be at ease with it. If we never finish anything properly how long will it be before we are entirely surrounded with the detritus of our life past, but with no tangible order to it? If we never finish ironing all the laundry and never completely put all the ironed laundry away, what was once one laundry pile is now split into three endings, only one is correct and that will eventually be obscured by the other piles of laundry lying around. 

Much the same can be said about truth. Truth all too easily, is split into half-truths and truths with a little tiny bit left unsaid. Usually the most important bit. After a while, everything is mixed up, much like the laundry. If we have one sock and start searching for the other, the piles will get mixed up. After a while, it is unclear what has been ironed and what hasn’t. The same with truth, if we say it enough times we will start to believe it, but it will not necessarily be true. It will be the truth as we see it. A truth that we have developed to suit our needs and wishes. One that makes us feel good about a situation, even if the situation is completely bad. If we never acknowledge what the real truth is and deal with it however bad the outcome, we deny ourselves an ending. We can not get the closure we deserve. Nothing is ever finished off.

Answers are endings. They may not always be the endings we want but they are final. A bit like the dinosaurs, they are gone. An ending that was bad for them, but was good for the evolution of mankind. much the same as endings are for us. If they are final they have to be accepted, whether they are bad or good. If an ending has been brought about purely by examining the evidence brought to the table, by all parties then that ending has to be respected. If it is an ending that has been forced upon one party by another without just cause then that ending is bad and in reality is not an ending. It is in truth just another bad situation. another odd sock. We will continue to mess up the other piles in our quest for the truthful ending. 

As someone who writes an unhealthy amount of words every day, using a language that is not my own, I like to play around with words, especially words that I can’t spell. Acrimonious is one of those words. Most often associated with divorce. Where did it come from and why does it sound exactly like it’s meaning? Acrid is a descriptive word given to the smell of burning, it makes you conjure up a thick, black, choking smoke. Burning your lungs, taking the place of good clean air, denying you the chance to breathe. Smothering all that is good and replacing it with bad. Moan, well we all do that from time to time, even the word itself sounds moany, it is a heavy word, downtrodden by what it sees as slights on its good character. It is slow and ploddy, stopping at intervals to mouth yet another load of negative, disparaging words whose only purpose is to inflict suffering onto another. So, if we put together the suffocating, life-destroying smoke and the constant heavy plodding of moany moaner and act accordingly we are acrimonious, not only by our thoughts and deeds but in the very sound of the word. An acrimonious end is one that although final will eat away at those it affects for many years and will affect the way they are able to move on.

So why Number Me? Why have I chosen that in the subject line, indeed is this even about me? It has certainly been written by me, all the thoughts contained here are my own. What was the point, in fact, why? What were the last five paragraphs even about? Other than to indulge my love of writing? Will it ever end? So many questions and none of them have answers, none of them have endings. This is the 6th paragraph, of 6 paragraphs, so therefore at this point in time it is the last paragraph. The end, but it hasn’t given an ending. It is like the TV series, you have read all the way to here, ever hopeful that I will get to the point, give a reason, explain the title, but I haven’t. It has been a disappointment, you are feeling confused, you really can’t be bothered to read anymore, you’ve wasted enough time on me already. if I can’t get to the point then why hang around? The reason is, I can’t. I need help with the ending. In order to end, I need to begin, in order to begin, I need to have a reason, to have a reason I have to have an identity. My identity was a number. It wasn’t a constant number it changed, but non the less it was an identity and like all identities, it served as a reminder of who I was. Much like the lanyard, you have around your neck at this very minute, yep that’s the one. The one that tells everyone who you are, what you do and why you are there. Without that lanyard, you would lose all privileges, in effect, you would lose your identity. There would be no reminder of who you were and people would pass you by. 

My identity was that notch on the bedpost. A constant reminder to you of who I was. My number would stay there, never changing, but still there. I’m no longer there.  Without my number, I lose my place in the queue. That number could only be ignored for so long before it was answered. Without my number, I lose my identity, I have no reason to be. I did have a beginning but do I have an end? As I said I need help with the ending. I don’t feel I’m ready to write it yet, but at the same time the storyline has faltered, it no longer flows. Although the story has changed direction many times in the past, I have never addressed it so directly before, I have never asked it to reveal itself to me. I have questioned its existence before but always allowed it to continue unabated. It has always led me and in truth, I was happy to be led. Without my number, I know my time left is limited. This story must end, but how? Is there enough material left for a second series? A whole new beginning to the end?