In which I ramble.
I realised something odd today. I'm happy.
Not to suggest that I'm not a happy person, of course. And not that I was unhappy. But I'm happy during a time of the year that I usually hate. I'm happy in conditions that used to chip away at me. I'm having trouble sleeping - too many thoughts buzzing around my head, I suppose. I'm also having trouble motivating myself to work, which is nothing new, really. And yet still I'm content.
I suppose the difference lies in the fact that I'm not being eaten up by malaise. I'm not suffering from that sense of pointlessness, from seeing the weeks ahead and failing to see the point. I think I'm just living my life from gig to gig, finding more beauty in lyrics than in my huge poetry book. It's not a bad feeling.
I was watching Year Twelve students today. Upper Sixth is so much more enjoyable. Possibly because it's finally the end (I love my school/sixth form, but I've felt restricted by it for too long now). This time last year was a waste, for me. The bus-journey bothers me still - seven years is too long, even if the view has changed a little.
I'm reading lots. I had a barren period for a while, where I was suspended between the fantasy fiction I used to consume, and the sort of stuff I'm reading now ("Classics" in the eyes of the literary world. Can't say I always agree). Early this year, or perhaps last winter I made the conscious decision to start reading that sort of thing. I've found a lot to draw on from reading, moreso than I ever did before, although I don't get the same sheer mindless enjoyment out of them. Possibly because I engage my mind with books now, rather than expecting to be spoon-fed.
I'm online about the same amount, but my focus has changed. Conversation snatches the hours away now, rather than pirates. I have to smile at that, because it's come full circle in some ways. It's better now, though, far better. I'm better. I'm almost glad I don't have logs from 2001-2003. I'm so different - I wouldn't ever entertain such parasitic relationships these days. There came a point where I realised that I would never get back what I wanted in return from those people, no matter how patient and understanding I was. It was silly of me to not realise that sooner, but I suppose you have to learn at some point. Better online than real life, I imagine. And really, it's the conversation these days that helps me better understand who I am, or was, and may become. Conversation with intelligent, insightful, entertaining people is so much more fulfilling than pirating, which changes its role so much. Too much.
And people. People people people. They fascinate me. I'll never get bored of people. And I'll never become a hermit. I think my mother would be encouraged by that thought.
Not to suggest that I'm not a happy person, of course. And not that I was unhappy. But I'm happy during a time of the year that I usually hate. I'm happy in conditions that used to chip away at me. I'm having trouble sleeping - too many thoughts buzzing around my head, I suppose. I'm also having trouble motivating myself to work, which is nothing new, really. And yet still I'm content.
I suppose the difference lies in the fact that I'm not being eaten up by malaise. I'm not suffering from that sense of pointlessness, from seeing the weeks ahead and failing to see the point. I think I'm just living my life from gig to gig, finding more beauty in lyrics than in my huge poetry book. It's not a bad feeling.
I was watching Year Twelve students today. Upper Sixth is so much more enjoyable. Possibly because it's finally the end (I love my school/sixth form, but I've felt restricted by it for too long now). This time last year was a waste, for me. The bus-journey bothers me still - seven years is too long, even if the view has changed a little.
I'm reading lots. I had a barren period for a while, where I was suspended between the fantasy fiction I used to consume, and the sort of stuff I'm reading now ("Classics" in the eyes of the literary world. Can't say I always agree). Early this year, or perhaps last winter I made the conscious decision to start reading that sort of thing. I've found a lot to draw on from reading, moreso than I ever did before, although I don't get the same sheer mindless enjoyment out of them. Possibly because I engage my mind with books now, rather than expecting to be spoon-fed.
I'm online about the same amount, but my focus has changed. Conversation snatches the hours away now, rather than pirates. I have to smile at that, because it's come full circle in some ways. It's better now, though, far better. I'm better. I'm almost glad I don't have logs from 2001-2003. I'm so different - I wouldn't ever entertain such parasitic relationships these days. There came a point where I realised that I would never get back what I wanted in return from those people, no matter how patient and understanding I was. It was silly of me to not realise that sooner, but I suppose you have to learn at some point. Better online than real life, I imagine. And really, it's the conversation these days that helps me better understand who I am, or was, and may become. Conversation with intelligent, insightful, entertaining people is so much more fulfilling than pirating, which changes its role so much. Too much.
And people. People people people. They fascinate me. I'll never get bored of people. And I'll never become a hermit. I think my mother would be encouraged by that thought.