If I were to look at the way things are, through the eyes of good humour, I spend most of my time flying between little islands of various distractions. When one becomes way too hot, I run to another and then another and so on. For instance, smoking was never something that gave me a high. Other than the odd drag after having not smoked for a while and the frequent flirtations with it becoming a vice, it was always something that gave me another issue to populate my thinking cycles. When the distraction becomes a bigger problem than the original one, quit and run.
The blog also creates similar problems. It is, most often, a distraction from a number of things that I have to deal with on a daily basis. And after a while it starts consuming too much of my time, especially when I start to run out of metaphors and new ways to describe feelings that often appear to be re-runs of old episodes. The differentiating factor is always so tantalisingly elusive. Moreover, consistency has never been my strong point, transgression from point A to point B in time for me is littered with contradictions, confusion and at times unintentional dishonesty. Quit and run, remember?
What speed would you choose to live in if you were given a life shorn of accountability and responsibility towards anyone else but yourself? Bigger, faster, better, more? Or slower, cautious, measured and enough? After all, you have only one life to live, even if you live till 80, it still is too short, especially when you have to take into account potential run-ins with problems related to red corpuscles and other irritants like arthritis. Who or what are you saving yourselves for? A hypothetical unknown face that is the manifestation of all things denied or things that went wrong or a hypothetical golden period in time that might never materialise? I think I would make a good advocate for the devil.
Can't wait for summer to end. It is so unbearably miserable. Can't wait for winters to be back with its understated and subdued calm. I am sure the voice of Eva Cassidy singing Kathy's Song and Autumn leaves, would sound a million times better in my head during those long silent walks in landscapes curtained by sheets of grey coloured fog. I need to buy a new book to read, for I am through with Bulgakov's Master and Margarita, need to buy a new pair of trainers and a pair of rugged running shoes. And most of all, I need a new distraction too.
I wonder why is it that I feel so out of place most of the time. The answer is as simple as I really did not want all of this. I was never a kid who wanted to conquer the world, be a world famous doctor or be anything for that matter. It has taken me almost three years of working the media industry to become comfortable with introducing myself as a journalist. Like most things that I am getting used to, it was something that happened to others who were ambitious, systematic and meticulous with their aims in life. Which is why even when I manage to cover significant distances, it is covered and interpreted in baby steps. As a result, the scale of things and the bigger picture often evade my grasp, but it is okay, because as far as baby steps go, I have come quite a long way.