Writing again

A friend recently told me that I should start writing blogs again. I haven't known her for long, in fact, she happened upon my blogs when web-stalking me before my job interview. I laughed, awkwardly - might I add - I'd known that they knew I had once been a blogger, but that's not difficult to figure out, all you need to do is look at my Twitter bio. I had once written as though it was a hobby. But not for a long time. I'm only now beginning to realise, how long. I've been told that they did actually read them. I grimace now, thinking of it. My colleagues, bosses, reading/hearing about my teenage ramblings, as I watched my classmates flourish around me. At the time I felt as though I was surrounded by strangers, trying to keep myself to myself, developing only a couple of friendships, while my friends surrounded themselves with new ones. I still feel the same - except now, having grown a older, three years older, that I feel more comfortable with myself, I don't reject my inability to make friends easily. I don't reject my inability to start conversations or drink or dance. So, things are easier. It's funny how much easier.

And here is my attempt to write again. And once once felt easy, is now difficult. I keep deleting and starting again. I'm sure I never used to do that. Perhaps, it's because I'm thinking too much... Perhaps not.

I laughed when my friend said I should write again. Ha! Like it's that easy, 'I don't have anything to write about!' I protested. 'I'm not in college anymore.' I got back to work, the thought lingering in my head. Odd that I'd been thinking the same thing for the last few months. Even that I'd given it a hand-written stab at it a few weeks ago - before I headed off to Poland, and then again, in Poland the week before last. So now, when some one has told me to write - am I? Why am I so inclined to write publicly now someone has told me to? Something to do - or is it my ego, telling me that my writing is good enough after all, if someone told me to write?

So, here I am, forcing myself to write though the length of one episode of 'SS-GB' it's good, by the way, but perhaps that's a topic for another time. We'll see.

I won't make any promises. Christ, I can't even keep promises to myself, let alone a page very few people will actually read!

Wanting... More.

Does it ever occur to you, in a sudden moment, that things could be... so much more?

You could be watching a film, or reading a book and you realise that you've wasted so much time being what you thought you were supposed to be rather than what you knew you could be. And you just want to do something but there's something holding you back. 

There is always something holding me back. 

I think I'm not the only one either. 

We all think that we have something tying us the the earth we tread daily. We're all tied down to what we know. To what we're comfortable with. To the everyday. We're tied to our commitments, to our responsibilities because we know what to expect. I think there are very few of us that actually like surprises. We hold on to the everyday because the alternative frightens us. Who wants to be without the security of a job. Without the security of a steady income - even if you don't have children or loved ones to support. 

I can't imagine just leaving my job to travel the world - alone. 

I feel like I need to search for something. But it seems pointless to go in search of god-knows-what. I seems like a waste. I tried it. Unsuccessfully. I went to the other side of the world and back, and I don't feel any different. I don't think I am any different. 

You know when people go and come back and say 'I don't feel any different' but you can tell that they've changed... I don't think I have. That is the genuine truth. And I don't really know what to do about it. 

Do I try again? 

The problem is. I, like so many am tied to my everyday dirt. 

I could make excuses, like 'It's a small company and my leaving would make a big impact.' or 'I can't afford it'. But the truth is, an adventure can take a day. There's no need to take weeks. I suppose you just have to go for it. 

Commitment

Something just crossed my mind.

I've always been a little afraid to get involved with anything that I have to tie myself to.

I could never chose what career path I wanted to head down.
I never joined clubs.
I don't have any plans to move out of my mother's house.
I never learnt to drive (before now).
I don't buy anything too expensive - because I can't guarantee that I'll like it in a few months time.

The only reason I can think of that links all of the above is the commitment. The commitment needed to push ones self to a goal. To... succeed in that goal.

I suppose my problem has always been that my fear of failure has always held me back from succeeding. Because if you don't try, you can't fail.

You read so many quotes now on all these different websites that tell you that you can do and be what ever you want to be. My parents have always said I could do and be whatever I wanted to be. And, all excuses of lacking confidence and blah blah blah, aside, the only thing that did stop me, what my own lack of commitment.

It's so disappointing to get to that stage of realisation and realise that any unhappiness you have in your life is... well changeable only by you. To realise that while there still might be time to take the left road, it isn't as easy to change course as it is to chose one.

In my case, certainly, I'd never dream of blaming anyone or anything but myself. Truth be told, I took the easy way out. I drifted into a job by accident, even though it had never been in the cards, because it was the easy option, because it meant that I could do things during the work day I'd never get away with had I a normal job. And I do quite like my job, I love the freedom and the people I work with make me laugh. But there's still a nagging feeling that... I could have been more. I could have been different.

I know I know, there's still time. But I don't want to change. Not really. I mean, I wish I could grow a pair sometimes and just get things done. To join a club, maybe, (not really) or make plans. Or not make plans. Anything that would make me proud of myself. To think, yeah I did that.

I know I went to New Zealand, but I'm so disappointed in myself for not taking advantage of the time I spent there. Frankly, I'm ashamed to admit. I wasted it. So I want to make up for it.

I'm going to Berlin at the end of November, and I swear to God, if I come home, feeling like I wasted it, like I didn't do or see enough... I don't know what I'll do. If worst come to worst, I'm sure I'll be found wandering the empty streets of Berlin in winter, freezing my English skin off, trying to find my way to the Berlin Wall and ending up some where on the outskirts of the city, talking to myself.

Similarly, I had a driving lesson this evening. "Take your theory." He says. I don't want to. Because I don't want to be committed. Means I'm doing it then doesn't it? No backing out. Now or never. And shit me. I left school so I wouldn't have to take anymore bloody exams.

I didn't realise this might become such a problem.

'Write Drunk, Edit Sober'

 I read a blog today that considered Ernest Hemingway's infamous quote 'Write Drunk and Edit Sober'. And it got me thinking about interpretations. I know we all look and see things in different ways, we wouldn't have half as interesting conversations if we didn't; but I didn't even need to get the the end of the article to have my mind made up. And to talk about it. (Notice what I'm doing now?)

 While I usually agree with said writer, this time I had to oppose.

 He seemed to take the 'ism' very literally. I know that Hemingway was addicted to alcohol and in some ways he possibly was being relatively literal. But I don't know, I just don't see it. It seems to revert a rather resonate (for me anyway) and turn it into a boring everyday sentence. And I feel that sticking to the meaning as meant word for word doesn't quite do Hemingway any justice. Like... at all. I don't like that.

 Maybe it's just me being a romantic. Maybe it's just me being naive. Maybe it's just me in general. But while you can argue the misperception and allusion to addiction, perhaps you'll take a small moment to consider this.

 What if Hemingway wasn't referring to alcohol at all?

 What if the "Write Drunk" element of the saying was referring, not in fact to being drunk or under the influence or being intoxicated by any form of drug - be it alcohol or otherwise. What if he was actually referring the the carelessness of feeling drunk? What if he was referring to the giddy, mindless feeling that you experience when you have been drinking? That 'I'll do what I want because I want to and there's nothing you can do about it" feeling. What if he was actually trying to say was 'Write whatever you want because you can. Because no one will see this but you.' Because really, what's the harm in popping a ill-timed joke, or some little 'ism' that may be a little risky or something a little more risqué than you'd usual write? At the end of the day. A first draft is only a first draft.

 Perhaps in fact, discarding the fact the Hemingway did suffer from addition (though I have read that he rarely, if ever, wrote under the influence), he really did just mean, write what ever you want and then cut it out with a clear and sensible head. That if you tried, you might find that that ill-timed joke wasn't quite so 'ill-timed' after all. Because that's what imagination is for isn't it? To enjoy and to go a little wild with. To frolic with until you read it back and think 'Oy, I really wrote that?'

Write first and edit after.

 Am I wrong to be so hopeful? So 'romantic' as it were?

 Am I being naive?

 I hope not because, personally I couldn't think of better advice.

Friendship

Here we go. Topic number two. It just popped into my head, so let's just go with it okay? Fabulous.


Topic Two
Number Two in the blithering idiot Saga
Numero Dos


I have come to the sudden and recent understanding that I am in fact a very shitty friend.
Now I'm not saying this to upset anyone or make anyone try to deny it (because I know all you're finger's are simply itching to write something in the comment box). I know a lot of people say and believe this. But I'm not just saying it. I know I'm a terrible friend.

For a start I'm a pretty selfish person. If I don't want to do something, I won't do it. This is just the way I've been for the past, I don't know, five ish years. I've been allowed to do it and it has gotten to the point where, I don't know if I do it because I want to or just because it's what I do. I.e Sit on my own in my room doing whatever the fuck I want. No judgement. Then of course I had the excuse of, but all my friends are at uni. Well they weren't were they, because I'd already lost all my friends by then. I'd already let myself sink into my pathetic little hole of doing as little as possible. So people asked me to do things, not really very often, and I said no, because being by myself was easier.

So now look at me. I want to go out, now no one will come with me. I don't mind not going out. That isn't the issue. My issue is now that I just feel. Lousy. Like a lousy, shitty, rubbish friend that doesn't really have any friends at all because she didn't look after the ones that she had in the first place. And where the hell am I going to find new ones if I can't get the ones I know I love back?

Because I do, I really do love the friends that I have, and I like their friends, but for some reason when I'm around girls my own age I turn into this little reserved nerd person, that knows she has nothing worth talking about to say. They don't even think about me. Because why the hell should they? Why the hell would they?

I have better relationships (friendship wise) with forty year old men than I do with people my own age? Why is this? Really, don't understand. How messed up is that?

Do you ever wonder if some people just aren't supposed to have friends? If some people are just born to be little hermit people that never leave their houses, never meet anyone. Just go to and from work and never leave the house except to buy food and to visit their mothers when they start calling every day asking if they have married someone in the past twenty four hours in which they called.

I don't know. I know that A) I'm the only one to blame and B) I'm the only one that can do anything about it. I know that. And I semi and planning on it. It's just a little bit. Well, intimidating isn't it? It means I need to seriously change my outlook on... well everything.

....

I'll let you know, shall I?

Art.

Welcome to the feature I'm really, really going to try to keep up with, I'm going to say at least monthly, if not more, in which I pick a topic out of misty life contorted air and blabber on about it. Won't this be fun? Come on, you know you love my endless, boring, nattering, bullshit. Sorry, couldn't think of anything more eloquent than that.


Right, on with the show.


Topic One.
Exhibit A.
Numero Uno.

Art.

I had had every intention of going to the cinema tonight. I was going to watch X Men, like the badass that I know I am (harhar) then you know- that plan fell through because I remembered, of course - I had already promised to go to my friends art exhibition (you can't see my face but imagine a disgruntled teenager huffing typically) but, whatever, I figured I'd be what, half an hour max? Before I'd be able to make my less than painful escape, come home, watch TV, read a bit maybe. Just, sort of chill. But guess what? It's Wednesday, and there is nothing to watch except the Bulletproof Monk, which by the way, I've seen a thousand and ten times, and I still cringe at its awfulness. So here I am, aren't you lucky?

So I went to this art show expecting little and dreading more. Because I was feeling close minded and worse, like a boring old fart that couldn't be doing with any B.S interpretation of modern art. I'm a little bit embarrassed to admit that I pretty much only looked at my friends work before making the oh-so-desperate escape.

Yeah, I do feel bad. But let me explain. I didn't want to go. I only went to show moral support, I don't enjoy looking at art and while, sometimes, if I'm in the mood I'll go with it, I just wasn't in the mood. (Yes. I'm just making excuses.) Because as soon as I got there they started ask me if I was going out with them after, even though I had already said no, and when normally that wouldn't be a problem, it just irritates my already tired mind to be pestered. And I definitely don't want to go out with people that are clearly on the prowl, and I definitely don't want to go out looking like I'd been stuck in an office all day, i.e dirty clothes, hair flat, mascara smudged, tights dusty enough to look like I'd rolled around on the workshop floor. (No I hadn't, but I had taken a seat on a lump of oak this afternoon). I'm moving off topic again.


ART.

Art.

...Art...


I want to say something inspiring or thought provoking, but I don't think it's going to happen with this one. Oh well, you can't have everything.

I understand that beauty is in the eye of the beholder and that is something to do with the way you feel about art right? Because usually art has to have some sort of beauty for someone, it has to mean something to someone to be art, doesn't it. Even if it isn't physically beautiful, art can be metaphorically beautiful too, which has something to do with that whole interpretation thing that I was just discrediting... Maybe I should retract the previous statement, and simply suggest that while I will try, sometimes, to interpret art in my own slow and unimaginative way, but not to the extent where I need to figure out what the point of that random seemingly ordinary chair is. Or is that the point? I don't know? Why can't these people just sit down and read a good book?

It's far too confusing for my small mind to even try to comprehend.

So I'm going to do what the art intended. And stop trying to understand it and enjoy it, or not. (Mostly, knowing me, not). Because, that is the point, isn't it?

Is it?

Joseph Kosuth - One and Three Chairs (Wiki)

First and Foremost

If you had no commitments. No restrictions holding you back. If money was no object and no dream was big enough. If you had the chance to do anything tomorrow, what would you do?

I mean really. If you could do anything, tomorrow, with no consequences toward your responsibilities or commitments. What would you change if you had the chance?

We all have dreams. We all make promises to our selves that in six months this will have changed, or that will have. But really, what do we do to actually reach those goals. We, or I certainly am, just living off whims. And it isn't working, because the whim never lasts. I'm so sick of listening to my whims and wasting time and money on phases. It's boring and I'm tired. I can't take any more of this lying to myself. So I have made a decision.

If I don't like something. I have to change it.

I don't like listening to my whims and it leading to nothing, I have two choices.

1. Stop listening to whims.

2. Stop letting them lead to nothing.

The first seems the easier. But what is easy isn't always right. Is it? What sort of boring life would I lead were we not to listen to our whims? We'd be stuck doing the same thing every day, ignoring spontaneity and probably most fun. And lets be honest, we all like to follow a good whim from time to time. And they aren't all bad. Hey, I'm writing this on a whim aren't I?

That only leads to the second. Stop letting the big stuff go.

Okay, you can let the whim to draw a moustache on your sleeping sisters face. You can probably let that go, especially when you've got witnesses and you know you won't live to see the next sunrise as soon as she finds out exactly who violated her face with a permanent marker. But what about the other ones? If we have a sudden notion to do something big, something special, or important, shouldn't we go for it.

And no, I'm not suggesting you go and rob a bank. I can't condone illegal behaviour, in the current climate. I also could never condone someone putting a stocking over their face. Does that even work?
Anyway, back on track. I guess what I'm trying to say in my round about mumbo jumbo is this: why must we dismiss our urges because they're 'unrealistic'.

So you have an urge to go travelling.

So go!

You have commitments?

So do I. Doesn't every one.

You want a tattoo?

Get something that means something to your current state in time. You want a flower because it's summer. I'm not going to judge. It's just a permanent memoir of that summer isn't it. I got mine on a whim. And sure it's scary because it's permanent. But that doesn't mean you have to regret it afterwards, does it?

It doesn't have to be unrealistic, you can make it a little more sensible. Want to go travelling? Take your two weeks holiday and don't waste it. Do what you want and go for it. Come back to work satisfied and start planning what you're going to do next year.

Sorry it keeps coming back to travel, I guess one can't escape their own whims after all.

So if you literally metaphorically had the world at your feet and you could do anything or go any where tomorrow. What would you do?


I'm not going into the 'if today was your last day' and you only had one day. I'm talking about, you have infinite amounts of time and money, even skill if you want to do something you aren't actually trained to do (we'll come back to this with an example later) or, god forbid, something that would change your life and your way of thinking forever.

Would you get a tattoo?
Would you move out?
Would you build something?
Would you change your job?
Go back to school?
Would you travel?

I would. I'd jump in a beat up old wagon (a reliable one obviously), or a motorbike with stack loads of cash and drive. And drive. Or jump on a freight train. To run away. And I wouldn't stop until I felt like I'd found the place, or the person, that I belonged with. Until I'd found home.

And I don't even know how to drive either.

Is it so terrible to wish for something as simple and complicated as that?

It's unrealistic, but not impossible. So I might only be able to do one city or region at a time. So it'll take a little more time that I wanted. Isn't that better than doing nothing at all? Than letting the opportunity to simply pass me by? Not a chance. So I'll have to squeeze things again and it'll be a little rougher than I wanted. Better than staying fine wasting my holiday sat on my laptop trolling the internet.

And this all comes back to inspiration doesn't it. Or lack of. How are we supposed to keep ourselves inspired in order to keep up with all of these dreams. How do we stay inspired enough for our aspirations?

So I'm decided. Enough is enough. It's time to act.