I haven’t written, and it’s partly because when I think about it, I don’t know if my news is particularly interesting, and partly because I’ve fallen out of the habit of writing every day. It’s so strange, while you’re doing it it feels so natural, but when it’s been a while, the act of sitting down and just doing it looms up like this huge white wall. It’s not ‘writer’s block’, it’s impetus. Or inertia, depending on how you look at it. In my case – definitely intertia. To be fair, I have been busy with uni classes – Italian and Old Icelandic – but now it’s the break between semesters, and all I have to do all day is work (and not think too hard). I’ve made the resolution to beef up on my Old Icelandic grammar, and read some eddas over the break, but aside from that I feel a void in terms of creative output.
I’ve been sick for the last two weeks – ever since Friday the 28th of May, when I had Jeremy round for dinner. Aart’s here too, so the three of us had my cream of celery soup, and then chicken rendang, supplemented with beer, then champagne (I was nominated for an award at work, and just being nominated earns you a bottle of Deutz), and finally Aart’s Mohitos, which did the worst damage.
Then we decided to go out – I called Connie and she was at home, a bit drunk, and I texted Craig, who was at the Bristol playing pool. We stumbled outside (and this is where my memory starts to haze over) and wandered past Jeremy’s old house, knocking on windows, etc., realised we had walked too far and then had to climb back up the hill to Connie’s. Had a smoke at her house and then we wound up at JJ Murphy’s. Apparently I walked straight in, and the others just followed me. I walked up the stairs and into some back room, with the others thinking “where is she going?” One of the barstaff came in and retrieved us, and apparently I was annoyed because they didn’t stop us earlier.
Then of course some bright spark pointed out that we were in the wrong bar, so we left, walked up Cuba street, and staggered into the Bristol. Craig was there, and a few of his friends, and of course I must have bowled up and said “I want to play”. I remember playing pool – very, very hazily – and I remember kicking ass. I’m not kidding. I was as astonished at the time as I am now, thinking back on it. Only trouble was, they couldn’t drag me away from the pool table. Even when it was someone else’s turn I kept picking up the cue and going to take a shot. I must have been so annoying. Really. Then we went to a club, but I don’t think we stayed very long. Saturday’s hangover was the hangover from hell. I thought I was going to die. And that’s where this deep chesty pain and coughing has bred from. Fool.
I’m slowly coming back to life again, getting a little more energy. Last week, though, was a wipe out. I had a half day off on Monday, and all of Friday off sick. Then we had a long weekend, so this week (after all the days off, and feeling shitty) feels a little surreal. It’s hard to get back into the work rhythm though. And the no writing bothers me. I blame it on Aart (poor sod), not in a nasty way, it’s just the truth – in my wee place there’s no room for me now to spread out and feel safe to write anything. He’s always there. Hey, he’s good company, a good person to share a house with, but where writing is concerned, he’s making it difficult. So – I have to find a new place to do this. The library would be good if it wasn’t that little bit too far away. I suppose I could take a slightly longer lunch break, work a little later, or just throw it all into the wind. I need an outlet though, and it’s starting to get frustrating.
That said, I’m feeling pretty optimistic about things in general. Yeah, so maybe that’s an incredibly vague thing to say. It’s weird, maybe it’s because I’m in that break between classes and I have less to do – but I’m really enjoying ‘life’ at the moment. Walking to work, walking home (pity about the part in the middle), having coffee at the Aro St. cafe, reading, doing general stuff with friends (went to the Zoo on friday with Jeremy and Aart), talking to my parents on the phone, feeding my fish in the morning – I’m happy. Happy because of the little things. It makes a nice change from stressing about something or other, and nothing in particular.