Yes, I’ve found myself in exactly the same sort of work situation as the many times before… A job where you can get your work done, most days, in half the time you’re sitting there at your desk. It reminds me of school. You’d get your work done, and then, because it’s really not the done thing to crack open a good book in the middle of maths class, you sit there bored for the rest of the class. It’s something similar here. At least, I suppose, there is the internet, which is a form of reading, but you’re still stuck there in your chair. And co-workers have the nasty ability to sneak up on you (wearing headphones and listening to CDs probably doesn’t help too much on that front either).
Yesterday I was walking home from the Brewery (met James in town and we had a coffee at Felix and then walked over to say hi to Alan & Lisa) and I stopped in at “Bizy Bee” books. I really didn’t mean to go in there, but I wound up at the second-hand kids’ section, and wound up walking out of there with a wee stack of books – “Rumble Fish”, a Ruth Chew book, a little story collection about Witches, even a Bobbsey Twins (man I used to love those. I bet it’s terrible.).
Today the plan is to meet (at the Brewery. How convenient.) and then get some takeaways from Satay Village and then head up to Alan & Lisa’s and get out a video. I was planning on heading home and delving into my childrens’ books and maybe doing a little writing (I have been procrastinating, doing nothing) and go for a run (also procrastinating). BUT —
This is why the idea of getting a place of my own is starting to look like a good one. I wind up being so busy every week, seeing friends and catching up, having lunch, etc. that maybe I wouldn’t feel too lonely if I was in a place by myself. I don’t know how much it will wind up costing me, but I really just want something small, not fancy. Just clean. Enough room for bed, desk, maybe a table. A comfy chair. The smallness seems to be important to me, somehow. I don’t want to get into something large and ridiculous. Small and functional, but something I can easily make feel useful. If it’s all one room (minus the bathroom, of course), then so much the better. Even if I don’t get into the damn bill manhire course, I know that living in a place of my own will be better for me creatively. It’s like Jeremy needing to move into a two bed place so he can make one into a studio. He’s paying $190 a week though. I can’t afford that, especially if I’m going to be at uni next year. (IF. But I still have to consider it, don’t I?)
Well, at least by christmas I will know if I’ve got in. Then I can have a wee think about what I am going to do next. At the moment my plans depend on two things that – at the moment – aren’t certain. Am I going to get into the class? Is Aart going to come over and work (will he find a job? will he get sponsored? What are the odds? I don’t know).
We’ve got a work christmas party on this saturday. At least it will be a free night. We’re supposed to dress up. The theme is “The Titanic”. Christ Almighty. That’s the problem with dress-up parties. You’re terrified of being the only one not in costume, of looking like a complete and utter party-pooper, but at the same time, I really can’t be bothered trying to find some sort of dumb costume, when I’d really rather do christmas shopping (and buy myself presents) with the money. But now I’ve said I’ll go. Ah forget it. I can’t be bothered with this costume thing. Maybe if it was a friends’ party, but this is work, for God’s sake.
I’m reading Margaret Atwood’s “The Blind Assassin”. I got it signed by her when Daph and I went to go see her a few weeks ago. It was brilliant. Daph also won a (hardback) copy of “Oryx and Crake” that she gave me, saying it was more my thing than hers! Brilliant! Brilliant! Book is brilliant too, by the way.
Speaking of Brilliance, I re-read “Rumble Fish” last night. That book is fantastic. So is the movie, for that matter. Brilliant.
What else is news…I’m not even sure how long it’s been since I last updated, so please forgive me if I repeat myself.
Things are still strange, with my grandfather dead. I have been thinking about death and dying a lot lately, which of course isn’t completely unexpected. It’s a normal thing. It’s a necessary thing. People don’t think about death enough, in my opinion. I think people spend too much time trying not to think about death. We pretend that it’s not just around the corner. We think everything is going to stay the same if we make it. We tell ourselves axioms such as “nothing is certain but death and taxes”. But we call these things “axioms”, and quote them in university essays, and we don’t think that these statements are fucking true, and then suddenly the change hits, and someone dies, or you die, and you wring your hands and say “woe is me”, and worst of all, you’re suprised that it’s happened. “It happened so quickly,” we like to say. Then we think about it and decide that when it happens to us, we would like to go quickly, even if it is difficult for the family. We’re selfish that way. We don’t want any pain, any fear – any life – in our death. People are funny things that way. We want to “rage into the light”, or however it goes, but at the same time we don’t want it to hurt too much.
Anyway, I think it’s good to think every day, “This isn’t going to last much longer. One day I will be dead and everything will carry on without me.”
Then again, once you’re dead you won’t mind so much.