The Sun In Splendour

I'm all settled in my new house, and I love it. Things are actually pretty damn good at the moment - of course the house and the independence that comes with that, my health too is fabulous and stable, and i'm pretty happy. I don't think i'll ever be totally content, my high expectations continuously seem to fall short of the realities of life - it seems to be a malady I can't shift despite the set backs that should dampen my expectations and also just the pure appreciation of what I now have.

I'm still job hunting, but again I refuse to settle for a banal job even though my money is depleting at the rate of knots. Sometimes I wish I could just shake myself, hurl out the defiant cobwebs and stubborn morals that have me gripped in this debilitating stance. The whole "do what you love" is really a very privileged stance to have - though the privilege, freedom and scope for experimenting as I said is twisting down the plughole at an intense speed, so I guess a soulless recruitment job may soon be on the cards. I'd rather fucking starve to be brutally honest, even if they paid fantastically, had an abundance of holidays and leisurely lunches - none of it would be worth the soul destroying nature of what I'd fill my precious days with. I'm waiting to her back from another handful of job applications - ones that I could actually love - so hopefully one may offer a glimmer of potential that i'll just grab.

Living by myself has brought with it this dichotomy of feelings - as I said the freedom and independence is extremely relieving and bloody fantastic, like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. It's taxing and exciting too as I try sort out bills, broadband and broken boilers. I also adore the space the place gives me to think and let my mind wonder - the place is a blank canvas for my thoughts, musings and dreams, and to twirl about at night with not even a spider looking on criticising my moves  (...yet.)
I'm not the most social of butterflies, but the stillness and quietness some of the days and nights bring with them do however fall on me like a thick fog, and makes me crave the company (even though sometimes grating and annoying) living at home had. I don't even have a kitty to play with and tease, and tell life's woes and adventures too as it looks on, completely uninterested. Starting tomorrow however my mate and her fella will be staying with me for a month, and in July my other friend will come and live with me permanently(ish), which will inject some life and a welcoming continual buzz. I can't wait.

I think this time and space to think is a curse in disguise - there's something to be said for a relentless life where the niggles of your mind don;t have either the time or the space to burrow and lay their eggs, loaded with possibilities, doubt, apprehension, memories. I crave a hectic, all consuming lifestyle, which is something I doubted I ever would, or for a while be well enough to do. Interesting and taxing, yes. Exhausting, not so much. But I wish to numb my wandering mind and fill it instead with everything everyone else does - mostly banal, grown up shit. How fantastic must it be to seamlessly erase those escalating thoughts and concerns about life and health that linger all day, and just do, just be. The rare days I spend now consumed in indolence, that I once cherished and love, now fill me with a huge sense of nothingness and waste, and I wonder how on earth I spent such a large chunk of time swamping. I know ill health and an energy sapping liver has a lot to answer for, and i guess the fact i'm now restless and sick of it is a fantastic and encouraging sign that i'm healthy. As Milton says, "Awake! Arise! Or be forever fall'n!" I just have to grab it by the balls and embrace it. I don't want to spend a life musing about lost loves and lost lung function, the changing shape of my face and the changing shape of the world (unless it's my job to do and i'm bloody paid for it!)

I'm still reading Paradise Lost (my time recently has been taken up with painting, cleaning, all that house moving palaver), and I really really love it. Milton was a fucking badass. It's so rich and deep, and i'm a sucker for deep and profound quotes. He describes the four "baleful" rivers of Hell, as well as Lethe, who those who have died cross in order to reach the underworld. If you touch the waters of Lethe, you immediately forget all memories and erase all feelings, and will spend the rest of your 'existence' in Hell completely numb to all experiences. As they cross, they all strain down to touch it, but that fucking bitch gorgon Medusa stops them. So near and yet so far. It's pretty heartbreaking, to think they're so close to a bearable eternity in Hell yet taunted so mercilessly.

I'm rambling because it's way past my new bedtime of before midnight. See, i'm really trying to be good, I am.



"What hath night to do with sleep?"
Paradise Lost