I haven't written anything for a while on here and there are two reasons for that.
First of all, I have been extremely busy with work and I haven't really had the time. And I mean that I've been busy with actual work, the work that pays me money and we don't talk about on here. That's a good thing on one level, of course, because, well, I need to eat and pay my rent and go on these trips that I go on that make people think that I don't actually work.
It's also not such a good thing on another level; because it really doesn't allow me time to do what I actually want to do, which is to write. Every day I get so many ideas of what I want to write about. Every day when I sit at my desk or drive in my car or lift some weights in the gym, I'll get a flash of an idea about something that I need to write. These can be ideas for blog stories, for chapters in my next book, for dialogue between characters, or generally observations that I have and want to wrap some words around.
Unfortunately then I get home, having finished everything that I had to do on that day, and it's suddenly 2230 at night and either I can't even face sitting down to type these ideas out because I'm so tired and have to go to bed and get up early to do the same, or, even worse, these ideas have already left my head for good.
This last part really upsets me. It upsets me because I'm at a stage in my life where I feel like I can be really creative, but unfortunately circumstances don't allow me to take advantage of this.
I'm not somebody who considers themselves to be terribly ambitious. I kinda think that I'm too damaged to pursue whatever might be classified as success and recognition and what have you. But, perhaps in a delusional way, this is one area where I think that I could contribute something to the world - through my writing. Again, maybe I'm misguided, but I think that if anything's going to be left behind, if there's anything that people might think back on and think 'oh, he was quite good at that' after I'm gone, it will probably be things that I wrote. And I feel this slipping away from me, because I don't have the time to sit down and do it.
Yes, I'm thinking of legacy. I'm thinking of legacy and of dying and not fulfilling my potential and I'm only 33. Why I'm feeling like that at this age, I don't know. Like my life has nearly expired and I'm lying there on my death wallowing about all the things that I didn't get to do. At 33. Too late for a quarter life crisis, too early for a mid life crisis, perhaps my condition is just critical at all times.
I think I was spoilt with writing this blog, not just back in 2007, but also this summer when I found it cathartic to start writing again about what I was going through (those posts are now deleted...for reasons I'll explain later) because I came to realise how people were connecting to what I was saying pretty much immediately. Because this is a blog, and because I put myself out there, and because the whole process is a little bit interactive - with people commenting and emailing me privately and generally getting in touch - I always felt the impact of what I was saying directly. I was being made aware that a lot of people out there exist that think the way I do, and relate to the things that I write. This is the main thing that I'm good at. This is the main thing that I want to leave behind.
That's why it pisses me off that I can't do it right now. That's why it pisses me off that I have to spend my fleeting life doing other stuff that only serves a purpose of funding my existence here, instead of doing the one thing that I like, am good at, and could be remembered by. Is this ironic? I've lost track of what the word irony means because people use it differently in Greece, England and America - the three countries I've lived in. Completely differently though.
Anyway, I guess this is my Sunday night 2300 existentialist crisis. Which I had better wrap up and go to bed. I hope I find the time soon to write the second reason why I haven't written on here in a long time (which also links to why the posts from the summer have been removed) and I promise, the second reason is less solipsistic and therefore more interesting and relatable to you. Sorry for starting with this one. I clearly like the thoughts of my own brain too much.
Oh, what triggered all this was an email I received from somebody who’s read the blog for a long time. And this person, whom I don’t know anything about, has cared and been nice enough to email me a couple of times (as far as I remember) but this time they wanted to cheer me up and they thought a way to do this would be to send a list of ‘highlights’ from the blog. Things that I’d written about over the past six, seven years. Isn’t that fucking sweet? Now, if you used to read the blog back in the day, maybe you’ll remember these. (I remember most of them and I wrote them). I hope the writer won’t mind me sharing part of their email here.
“For this next part, excuse me for bringing things up from long ago--because I think you might possibly dislike that--but off the top of my head and because I feel like compliments based on facts are better, here are a few of my very favorite LP posts you wrote that for me captured some real art.
I vaguely recall that you like lists but I didn't put numbers on these because that would indicate a rank. I can't be expected to choose favorite stories when I have so many.
The one where LP texts with a friend across the Atlantic while drinking champagne out of the fridge. It ends quietly.
Paper towels in toilet at gym. Truly inspired.
Surf narrative from Newquay.
Critiques of reading material chosen by riders on the tube.
Description of young girl (on Eurostar?) with thin lipped hardness (this might actually be my favorite bit).
Doing an impressive number of pull ups and staying in your hotel room instead of skiing in France. Extra points for your choice of ski jacket and ambitious eyewear.
Physical descriptions of greek men at an airport and your palpable relief when back in England.
Quotes only heard in LA which only could have been chosen by you.
Squeezy hands posts with the pictures from Richmond Park. I faintly remember swans or geese. I had been in that park only a week earlier, was home in the states and read that post. I had just seen those birds and then found myself 4,000 miles removed and it made me very sad.
Hope this helps if you are needing help. If you are fine, then I hope this made you smile.”
(As a note, it did cheer me up, and it also sent me down a very narrow, dimly lit spiral of melancholy. So two thumbs up).