To back track

Taken from a period of profound reflection dating the 2nd of June this year...

"So I can't sleep. So as usual I feel the need to discuss my problems at length. Which is difficult because I forget what they are precisely. Or rather I can't think of any new anxieties that are plaguing me...

Another troubling thought...Am I talented or just lucky? I will have a fag and think on this...

Boring conclusion is that it's a combination of the two. This particular question can unify my feelings about my existence to date...

From as far back as I can remember I've been considered lucky. Which I embraced for a while. But now, now, I'd like to think it had something to do with me. And some things were; grades, auditions, getting into this programme, that was me.

I dunno why I'm so obsessed with this right now. I guess if you depend on (or believe in) luck you're always worried about when it's going to run out. If you put it on yourself you maintain some semblence of control. And that's all anyone needs to feel. But it's also what they'll never get.

As Chuck Klosterman proposed, probability is a myth. Everything will happen or...it won't. It's 50/50. On everything. Exploring other possibilities ("It might happen") is a fabrication of a mind who wants to feel that life is more complicated than that. A mind that wants to understand these outcomes but never will.

Either I'll cope or I won't.

Either I'll do this or I won't.

Do or do not. There is not try.

Now I'm quoting Yoda. What the fuck, why am I not falling asleep yet?

But being prepared (Psychologically at least) for either outcome is the only way to ensure piece of mind.

Like the Sunscreen song, 'Maybe you'll get married, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't.'

If I were to characterise my generation, it would be through uncertainty.
Shifting sands. A complete lack on any status quo. We can do anything we want (If we don't mind the debt) we can try to have everything (Even though we can't).
We have the option. Unlike former generations no one is forcing us to do anything but be happy.

And this is crippling in itself. It infers happiness is something to be pursued, not something that can be found in what you already have. What's being forgotten is that contentment can be forged from limitation. Scenarios can be grown into. A status quo can be the destination you sought.

I have no status quo. I can say I'm happy right now, which I am. I like the city I live in, the friends I've made, the programme I'm on. But it's transient. It will not last. In three months I'll be thrown out of any comfort I've acquired.

Way I see it, the sooner you get yourself locked into a scenario, the more time you have to convince yourself that this is the best thing that could have possibly happened to you. But we are a nomadic generation, comprised of TEFL teachers, serial graduates and recreational travellers. Rootless, we have no choice but to go where the work is. Only unlike previous generations we're not always guaranteed work when we get there.

Flux. Uncertainty. Transcience. There is no God, no one true love, no politicain you can trust, no unifying cause, no job for life, no pension, no promised land, no friends that will know you longer than a decade, all your money will be a phantom currency-always borrowed, never owned, the new band you like will be washed up next year, your computer will be outdated in less than a year, fashion will recycle itself, you can't have everything but you owe it, to everyone who didn't, to try. And the pursuit will drive you mad. But your talent will give you no choice. And luck will decide the rest.'

It was a bad night.

To begin...

Herein lies the discharge of a brain in unidentifiable yet seemingly terminal sickness in that it frequently does not do what it is told nor what would be of any use to me. It muses over what is pointless, irrevocable or downright meaningless except when it ponders on what appears essentially meaningful but later reasons is actually as pointless as everything else. It searches for definition where none could possibly exist. It strains for a logic which it could not plausibly attain or understand. It seeks knowledge but finds only profound lack. It tries to take solace but is never fulfilled. It indulges in pleasure only to find vice. It does this every minute of the live-long day and makes me very tired indeedIt can be made to switch off only if watching Holly Oaks. But Holly Oaks, in turn, has the ability to make me feel angry in a uniquely futile way. Except when I reflect on my own work, in which case it gives me brief respite from self-flagellation. That is the essential curse of Holly Oaks.