The walls of solitude are pressing closer in these days, and my only recourse is sloth, which defines the days I don’t have to work. Sometimes I marvel at my lack of originality – the only lives I dare lead are the ones I’ve already seen writ large in books, fiction, novels, everything from someone’s else’s consciousness, which, in turn, contained stories filched from the routine realities of yet another’s life. All furtive observation and rote plagiarism, I tell you.
The years I spend reading fanfiction and accordingly, posts that go DID NOT DO ANYTHING TODAY ___’S FACE, GOD, HE DOES IT ON PURPOSE, I SWEAR LOOK !!!, coloured the baby reds and yellows of lives divided unevenly between a necessary day job and ill-disciplined nights of typing feverishly on laptops, and I wonder if this is it, to drag yourself out of bed for a paycheck all week, eyes fixed on the benediction of a Friday, and then slumping relievedly, floppily, through the weekend, all the while taking hasty hits of your personal vice, be it homoerotic subtext, social alcoholism or serialized TV dramas.
I’m being entirely too dramatic, I know. I don’t even work full-time, I go to work with something approaching excitement, I get paid too well for my qualifications, experience and age – and it’s all temporary. I’m moving on from this. It should be a relief. It is a kind of limbo, but I don’t know which scares me most: my past, my present or my future. Inertia will carry me through my – fear isn’t the right word, anxiety too indicative of neurosis – apprehension, at any rate. There’s some comfort in that. I’m happy enough, in brief snatches.
Talking to second and third years about their worries about summer internships leading to jobs with proper, established, responsible companies has led to my worrying about … summer internships. Of course, the perennial problem is that I have plans, Plans, even, with the fancy capital P and all that jazz, but as long as I come home to my parents’ air-conditioned master bedroom and eighteen-year-old dining room furniture every night, these plans will only see a faint sort of metaphysical fruition. There are some things to be said for that – no disappointment, for one.
It’s lovely to catalogue the changes you perceive in yourself as the months slip past you, particularly because it’s always so difficult to identify them. I’m a lot more future-oriented. Maybe I’d always been? (I highly doubt that.) But I’m thinking about my winter break plans and my Easter break plans (yes, because I can afford to have Easter break plans! In terms of time to spend, at least. I’m not too sure about money.) and my summer break plans. I told Y earlier tonight that I’d take up an investment banking internship if offered the opportunity. I promised myself I’m going WWOOFing next summer – there is absolutely no negotiation on that. I’m thinking of heading State-side, of course, the other side of the Pond, whatever you call it. It seems fool-hardy. In any case, this new long(er)-term perspective is the result of good influence. Now, to find another source of good influence to fix my issue with discipline.
Dear lord, I still have four weeks left. I’ll book my plane ticket tomorrow. I’ll have my visa appointment on Wednesday. You know what I just realized? All this optimistic oh I have friends in the UK it’ll just be like going home/back to Pearson – SUCH BULLSHIT. There, I said it, with added vehemence. As I told K today, the highlight of yesterday was finding my Economic reading (an intermediate microecon textbook) free, online, in a PDF file (this point is tangentially related to the previous, you’ll see); the highlight of today was instinctively picking the right size of envelopes to fit both types of the letters I had written, without having them on hand to compare. I stuffed, addressed and sealed seven envelopes today. None of the recipients I will see in the UK … I love how blindly bright I had been: Oh yeah, Scotland is just four hours away by train ! London is an hour ! Europe is like, an hour-long flight away !! I won’t know anyone at my college, I’d barely know people at Oxford, I’ll know a few in London, and then a few more in the UK.
But this was the charm of uprootedness! of vagrance!
I know, I still want that. I just … also want people to be a little closer, I think.
Well … this takes the cake when it comes to ridiculous, incoherent posts, sorry about that. Languorous, long weekends are clearly not good for my sanity. There’s only three more working days before a week-long school holiday, so whether my work continues, I’ll still have around nine days off. That has to be an uplifting thing, surely?