“No, it is impossible; it is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one’s existence--that which makes its truth, its meaning--its subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We live, as we dream--alone.”
-Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness
I think I've figured out why a plethora of these entries always seem to have a sad or angry undertone. For the past few days I've had a couple of things to write about, but I kept pushing the actual business of writing back. Until today, that is, and only because some incident left me in a foul mood. As a result, the good or interesting things that happened to me in the past week won't be conveyed in such a way--instead, it will likely come across as if life in general has been crappy in the past two weeks. Which simply isn't the case. Perhaps I should give myself deadlines, but then again, that would compromise the therapeutic value writing has for me.
So, what's new? Work has been interesting, and please try to move away from the negative connotation that word so often holds. 90 percent of what I do usually involves football (the European variant), and the past tweek or so has been different, hence interesting. I've written on cricket, golf, cycling, sepak takraw (really), wushu (again, really), rugby sevens, fantasy football, Philippines basketball, horse racing, and of course footy. As difficult as it can be to balance all those things, it's nice to broaden your horizons in such a way. So yeah, interesting is good. I like it.
Last week's entry followed me for a couple of days, as apparently the entire world suddenly decided to read it. I half expected my father to comment on my "massive revelation" of not having had intercourse for a year (he did), and perhaps a friend or two. I did not anticipate my parents' friends or complete random strangers on the internet to not just read it, but actually address me on it. Sex sells, as they say. Without resorting to details or language inappropriate for these pages, this past week has been interesting on that level as well. Good lord, I do appear to be fond of that word today.
One of my best friends was accepted into an American university this week, and I am proud to say I helped out in my own little way. Obviously, the man was accepted on his merit, and my contributions were tiny and restricted to translating and streamlining his letter of motivation. Wannes, I'm proud of you buddy. Give them hell, and I'll see you somewhere on the Eastern seaboard in a couple of months.Hopefully I'll see you before that, but you catch my drift.
I'm checking out a couple of flats tomorrow (although not the flat I wanted, but more on that later), but to be honest, I'm really not looking forward to it. I loved the idea of getting a place with a friend of mine, but that plan unfortunately fell through in a hurry. It was mostly my fault--due to work, I scarcely had the time to aid in the search, and when we found a place that was suitable and available, I didn't like it enough to say 'yes.' It was a selfish decision--I want my next home to be perfect enough for me to call it a home, and that flat simply wasn't it. We could have lived there, and it probably would have been great. At the same time, I realise I need my own space, and perhaps this will all be for the best.
Now, onto the crappy stuff and the reason I picked today, out of all days, to sit down behind my desk and start typing. The flat I was supposed to check out was cosy, modern, spacious, remarkably affordable (my budget is relativey large, but still) and in a prime location. I called up the landlady and set an appointment, and we agreed we'd contact each other on Tuesday to confirm said appointment (tomorrow). After several phone calls and voice mails, I finally got word from the nice lady with the message she was in Italy and wouldn't be back until Friday.
Under normal circumstances, this wouldn't bother me all that much. These were not normal circumstances, however. You see: Two weeks ago I met this nice, attractive young lady with a great sense of humour who told me she would text me and then proceeded not to (quick update on that front: After not speaking to her for days I let my common decency get the better of me and wished her a happy birthday. She replied to every single person doing that in person, except for me. I'm assuming she may have read my blog).
The same thing happened to me on four different occasions in the past week. Now, over the course of the past 25 years or so, I've come to accept the fact that people have normal lives with social and professional obligations, and as a result, their schedules may not always suit mine (it took me some time. Part of me still believes I'm the lead character in The Truman Show). Armed with this knowledge, I find it easy to deal with people cancelling on plans or shooting down certain proposals.
What I have difficulty with, however, is people telling me they'll call or text and then not actually call or text. It's frustrating from a practical perspective, as it greatly hinders me in my attempts to balance a schedule which is already fairly tight. More importantly, and this may just be a minor personality flaw of mine, but I take it as an enormous insult. As if somehow I leave such a fleeting impression the implied promise you will contact me is forgotten in an instance. And frankly, I'm sick and tired of running after people who apparently care so little for me they can't be bothered to remember we were in the middle of making plans.
If all of this sounds like quite the overreaction, I'm sorry. It's a personal thing--I just really don't do well with people telling me they'll do something and proceeding not to do it. I'm sure a therapist would trace this back to my parents making me promises and not keeping them in the past, and he'd be full of it--all parents do so. Promises that go unkept are the very hallmark of our society.
God, all of this is making it sound like I'm extremely ticked-off at a handful of people--I'm not. Seriously. Except for the landlady. That flat really was quite special. How hard can it be to just let someone know you'll be in Italy? It's common ******* decency. All of this is making it really hard not to just pack up my bags and go back to London. The fact I still don't have a place to live means I could theoretically do it, and like a splinter, the thought keeps creeping further and further into my brain. I have two consecutive days off in October, and I'm thinking of just booking a ticket and taking a two-day trip to the Big Smoke, just to get away from it all for a few hours and see the city again. The fact our local radio station keeps playing West End Girls three times per day isn't helping, either.
So, what else is new? I've finally finished season 8 of Dexter, and my friends were right: That is one unsatisfying finale. Today happens to mark the 10-year anniversary of the pilot episode of LOST, which means I may have to do another run. I also finally finished Conrad's Heart of Darkness, and it was well worth the read.
Right, that's it for now. Have a good one guys.
Song of the Day: Childish Gambino - Zealots of Stockholm
(My MP3 player is kind of messed up, and for some reason, this is always the second song of my playlists. So, walking down the streets of the West End, this song always popped up. Try to listen to the whole thing).
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4rdQSP7Dhck
Geen opmerkingen:
Een reactie posten