The Corridor

Hi there. You know, we've had a lot of fun over here and we've touched on quite a few important topics - procrastination, boredom, weather - and they've all been a approached with an air of witticism and whimsy you probably wouldn't normally waste on a dog with cataracts. But now, we here at this blog (by which I mean "me here at this computer") have decided to focus on some of the bigger things in life. Bigger things like houses, trees, erm... what else? Statues, they're pretty big too.

Okay, there probably won't be much of a focus on statues. Or trees. Or physically large things. Or anything of importance, really. I feel like the need to reinvent the whole nature of the meaning of this place but I just know I'll only end up reverting and defaulting to mundane stuff, like the fact that my new bedroom is significantly smaller than my old one. Furthermore, this bedroom is situated adjecent to next-door's bathroom which seems to be perpetually inhabited by a bloke with irremovable phlegm in his throat, not matter how often and constantly he makes that throaty HHWWKKKH noise. He's even doing it now. Twenty-three times, in fact, during this paragraph.

Ever since my initial moaning about not having work, I've been thrust into two potential lines of work, allowing me to keep a metaphorical foot in the present day whilst also symbolically stepping into a potential future career. Going along with that metaphorical image there you've got in your head just now, I want you to imagine life as one big corridor that starts a birth and pretty much just forms an extention of a birth canal. Actually, yeah, there's an idea. Picture your mum's gateway to the world forming the entire wall at the end of a corridor. Don't worry, it's not naughty, it's natural. We all came from there. Well, no, we didn't all come from your mum. We came from our own mums, respectively. Where the hell am I going with this? Now turn around. No, not physically you idiot, now you can't read this.

Turn back.

Good.

Hi again. Now turn around in the corridor in your head and stop looking at your mum there. At the other end of that corridor is a bright light that people in movies are told not to go towards when they're lying in a pool of their own innards and feebly reaching upwards. Whatever that light is, that's the end. And along the way, the life corridor is lined with many, many doors. And behind each of these doors is some kind of opportunity like a job or the ownership of property or a bikini-clad woman on a motorbike (or if she's not your thing, a charcoal dusted bloke holding a fire-hose near to his groin as some kind of sexual metaphor). Many of these doors remain closed to us but if you get to the right place at the right time, and occasionally talk your way past the bouncers well enough, you're granted access to whatever opportunity lies within.

Great. Now that we've established that metaphor I can explain the related image that's in my head. Basically, after months (or what seems like months) of nothing, two doors have decided to open for me around the same time and I'm essentially stretching across the length of the corridor trying to prop both opposing doors open with a foot each. Okay, I pretty much nailed it already with the foot metaphor earlier, but I like the corridor one better. Plus I just made you imagine a lot of images with words, which is the thing I like most about writing, really.

In the meantime, when I'm not worrying about leading a future double life like some lame superhero who's a checkout assistant by day, but by night puts his underwear on last and goes by the name of Freelance Copywriter Boy, I'm playing old video games, watching American sitcoms and kidding myself into being more cultured by reading novels very, very slowly. Also I seem to be perpetually cleaning a house that's just completely out to get me - mentally - because it like gathering mess whenever I'm not looking. Speaking of which, since moving here, I've designated Wednesday as "Cleaning Day" and I'm not about to go throwing away some weekly tradition by neglecting it, thus leaving it for another entire week like it's some kind of mindless blog.