Entries from August 2007 ↓

I tend to forget how nice the feel of clean sheets is. That, and fresh towels are probably my two favourite things about hotels. But seeing as how I don’t have a laundry service at my disposal, such things aren’t changed daily and as I err on the side of laziness when it comes to some things, it’s always a pleasant surprise to find fresh, clean sheets slipping over my skin.

But enough useless banter. This week has been full of miserably sleepless nights followed by harsh, dry days that drag on from hour to fruitless hour. These last couple of months I have been looking for some kind of universal solution to my constant struggle with the apparent futility and meaninglessness of existence, awaiting some blinding epiphany or divine inspiration. But in the few days just past, I have come to peace with the fact that there will be no such respite coming. The seemingly Sisyphean labours of my days are set to go on as always.

There has not purely been soul-crushing defeat however, as through hours of solemn thought some things about myself and the way I feel about things have been given a great clarity and it would be fair to say that I know some parts of myself better now than I might have done not so long ago. Whether or not such knowledge makes a person better in themselves or happier, I couldn’t say, all I know is that some things that once cloudy are now well clear.

A dear friend of mine will soon be leaving me, at best for some months. I don’t believe the parting will be kind to me.

Some folks are like a beacon of light on the midnight sea, they shine with such brightness that you can see yourself, where you lay and all things in such glowing, beautiful colours with them near. When you stay close to them, the light they shine lets them see yourself in such brilliance that the sight of yourself so bright fills you with joy and excitement. You fall in love with them, and the good that you can see in yourself when they are near you. But when they are gone, and the light shines no longer, the world that looks upon you sees only a silhouette, and all you can make out are shades of grey.

This happens to me quite often. I find myself sitting late in front of the cold glow of the LCD wondering what it was that I used to spend so many hours lapping up and gorging myself on throughout the nights. I crave input. I have a stack of books next to me all begging for attention, but something about net publishing seems more immediate, more fleeting, more important to read now before it disappears forever in a moment never to be found again.

But it’s all in my head.

And so it goes with these sorts of things, my being one of the least afflicted by far when it comes to the desire to be forever aware of the moment passing by, trying to keep step with fashions and fancies, pouring so much life into the pursuit of being there in it then throwing it away to grab hold of the next thing coming to be. People empty their lives into keeping up with a treadmill, paddling furious against the current. But you know the drill.

I’ve spent more time lately walking the world and making with the peace, hoping to be struck by some manner of epiphany or inspiration, but all I’ve been hitting is static. The days seem to skip under my feet faster and faster, and I have no idea where they’re running to. Every window I find just seems to open out over greed and vanity, neither of which I would consider my bag.

Sometimes I just don’t know what to make of my options.

And always a flicker of light from the mirror on the wall for distraction, the image of a man growing old, alone.

Having stitches in your gums is a funny little feeling. After having wisdom teeth extracted from all four corners of my mouth last friday, I’ve been re-acquainting myself with the ups and downs of the liquid diet. The actual soreness hasn’t been particularly bad, I’d rate it somewhere between ‘uncomfortable’ and ‘nagging’ on the pain scale, but the swelling has meant my helmet doesn’t fit right now and I look like a Stunt Jaw for Bruce Campbell or Henry Rollins.

But if all goes to plan the stitches should dissolve and the swelling should peter out over the next few days and I ought to be back in the realm of people who can comsume solid food without a blender. One thing that has really struck me though, is where have I been on the yoghurt boat? The stuff is awesome. I mean sure it’s probably chemically identical to milk that’s been left on the bench for five days, but they make awesome little snack-buckets, don’t they just?

So I’m bunkered down at home with some manner of head-cold, influenzy chest-cough hellspawned something-or-other, hoping that I luck out and that the cure is some combination of coffee, fruit juice and mind-numbing television.

Being sick does not bring out the best in me I’m afraid. I sleep a lot, don’t talk much and generally slither around trying to find a warm rock to curl up on that I can eyeball things from and make snide remarks at under my breath. It’s one of those grumpy hermit things, I’d just like to get my regular body functions back in order so I can get on with the business of living.

It’s an appalling set of circumstances really, my joints and muscles are rusty or have gone on strike, the lungs and sinuses are operating on a skeleton crew and somebody forgot to check the amount of ventilation inside the skull before mixing those laundry chemicals. It’s an atrocious way to be.

But at least I’ve got my health, and if you haven’t got your health then what have you got?

Ahh, crap.