On Mediocrity and a General Lack of Inspiration

Hey guys.

It's been a week since I last updated this blog, and some of you are apparently getting impatient. My apologies if you were expecting more updates- perhaps you should re-read my first post. Truth is, there's not that much to write about. I could fill these pages with pointless muzing, but who'd want to read that?

I saw a fox yesterday, right in the centre of London. The tiniest creature, crossing the road in front of a Tesco. He looked so out of place and no one seemed to care.

The British government is still scr*wing around with me, so to all the friends who were planning on visiting in a couple of weeks: I'd hold off on booking anything for the time being. 

Honestly, this last week has mainly been one of frustration. Perhaps London is starting to lose its new-car smell or something, but I'm starting to get really frustrated. I prefer frustration to indifference, personally, but i'd still rather be in a different place mentally right now.

I wrote on a dogshow. The article was mainly an educational moment, and I liked it. Going out of your way to write is how you learn new things. I have a new block of heavy days coming up and I have the feeling I'll find out more on what my future will look like before the end of the week. It's all good, really. I've worked at this and fought for it, and that's all you can do. I thought I really wanted this and I had convinced myself I deserved every bit of it, but that's not how this world works. 

I'm already thinking of what comes next, you know? Looking past London and what the hell I'm going to do next. I haven't got the faintest, I really don't. 

Goodness, this is really turning out to be one horrible bit of writing. And to say I made people wait a full week for this. 

Maybe this will have to do for now. I'm sorry about uploading this giant steaming pile of nothing but I don't have it in me to put anything else on paper. I bought a giant chocolate fudge cake on sale, want to do another LOST marathon because **** it, English bureaucracy makes me want to shoot stuff and I'm facing a bit of an identity crisis. I visited the British Library because I was supposed to go there last time and I bought a copy of Albom's The Time Keeper, because it was only half a pound and I've been drinking tapwater ever since I got here and buying words makes me almost as happy as buying things that make me look pretty.

But mainly, I'm frustrated. And I'm starting to get a little angry. 

Take care everyone. I hope you're all great, wherever you are.

Song of the day: Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall - The Ink Spots ft. Ella Fitzgerald

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ayGkA-vxrMc


Edit: I feel like I need to make up for the general futility of today's entry. Here's a comic about Monopoly and Philosophy:

http://existentialcomics.com/comic/19

Edit 2:
It's the middle of the night now and I'm having difficulties falling asleep, which is probably why I'm sitting behind my computer right now. This entry was rubbish in its entirety, but it also felt unfinished, and I hate it when things go unfinished. Somehow, it doesn't work for me. My mind will keep racing and I get all anxious, and I become incapable of doing anything else until I find a way to finish what I had started.

This might be the scariest thought I have in life, the one thing that keeps me up at night: what if we remain forever unfinished? Scr*w the next chapter or the final pages to a story that has been told a million times already. What if the story is already over and we never got the chance to read those final pages?

All of this reminds me of a stupid quote by a certain traveler:

"I always rip out the last page of a book, then it doesn't have to end. I hate endings."

What an idiot. Things need endings. Without them, we're left with this gaping hole and no explanation on how to fill them. We need those final pages, or at least I do. I need those final pages.