Balls In The Air

Juggling was never really a specialty of mine, which is weird because I went to juggling club in high school. Oh yeah, my high school ran an after school juggling club, run by the maths teacher who wasn't the old man or the Indian woman everyone struggled to understand; it was run by the other woman who, evidently, juggles. It ran in the same vein as other extra-curricular, after school events, like chess club, drama club, art club and trying to make friends with absolutely-anyone-through-some-kind-of-shared-activity-club. Naturally, I dabbled a little bit in each of those too.

The aforementioned juggling took place in the temporary drama space provided by what was essentially an open plan static caravan parked in the field. The interior walls had been painted so black that what little light came through the windows was instantly killed off before reaching us and the carpet was evidently comprised of gravel and string. The main door also suffered a broken hinge, allowing me to give a very convincing performance one time, when my drama group decided to re-enact a typical soap opera. This ended with me being fake punched in the face and falling backwards, bouncing off the door and playing dead on the floor. And for those 20 seconds in between me 'dying' and the rest of my acting troupe looking sheepishly at the class sized audience and mumbling "that's it", I managed to make a trainee teacher genuinely think her teaching career had just crumbled to bits. I digress.

I'm bad at juggling. Maybe I should've just opened with that.

Doing multiple things at the same is, well, let's say "difficult, but not unmanageable". Actually, let's not say that for the sloppy use of a double-negative. But you know what I mean. So much to do, so little time, yadda yadda death. Having a hectic lifestyle means I'm a) tired all the time, and b) officially a grown-up. Incidentally, I haven't used my Nectar card for a while; I have far more grown-up-ly duties to attend to.

I work a weekday 9-to-5, office-based lifestyle these days. Also it appears I like hyphens. Look-at-all-these-damn-hyphens! See? Anyway, back to reality, I've been keeping a lot of metaphorical balls in the air lately and often dropping them when I feel like I want some free time to, you know, look at rocks or something. In all fairness, the office work isn't even bad. I read stuff then write stuff. It's like my normal life but more topic-specific and less rambl-o-matic like this thing usually is. Also, I don't get to use as many hyphens. You know, unless it's necessary.

The struggle stems from my daily commute, which has frankly become more exhausting in temperatures that qualify as "positively Saharan" to a pale, ginger northerner. Being torn away from my bed earlier than I'd like often allows me to tap into my inner zombie as I shuffle about a bit and grunt at a self scanner when all I want is breakfast and it refuses to co-operate. In conclusion, work's going well, it's the to and fro that's tiring me out.

I know what you're thinking. This commute would be so much easier if you didn't have to rely on public transport. Come on dumbo, you're 25. Learn to work a car for yourself. Way ahead of you. I've been taking weekly lessons and am progressing positively. But much like juggling, there's lots of things to keep your eye on and think about (and then actually do something about) before gravity takes hold and makes a fool of you when those balls hit the floor. Except in this scenario, it's not balls but motorised heaps of metal. And should you mess up somewhere, it's not gravity making you a fool, but velocity making you dead. Stakes are bit higher up here. Perhaps I should've mastered juggling first to be honest.

Still, I managed to be alive enough to type this so I clearly I've been doing something right.

Hiatus

Once upon a time, I wrote weekly entries for this bit of internet right here. Having chosen the path of a writer, I needed some form of keeping my brain and typing fingers active. I also liked to kid myself that people would read this, I'd get noticed by some big city recruiter type - complete with giant cigar and monocle - who'd say "hey kid, I like your work, you have such a unique style, I can give you money" and so on, but you know, slightly muffled because of the cigar.

That didn't happen. Sure, people read the crap I put here, but mostly because I put links on Facebook as if nonchalantly dragging a free-standing cafe chalkboard into the vicinity of a neon arrow and strolling away pretending to look at the sky. Of the people who have read it, several have sprouted words of praise and flung them my way, which my brain doesn't know what to do with because I suddenly become overwhelmed with a strong sense of smugness I keep masked under modesty. These words are my life, sure, but in my eyes they're also pretty crap and anyone caught reading my words should pray to whatever deity they may believe in for salvation straight afterwards.

It probably feels redundant to say this in a space I've left neglected, once again, for a terribly long time, but I'm finding it a struggle to write. Okay, let me clear something up, I don't necessarily find writing to be the struggle, it's more the commitment; the commitment I made to myself that I'd stick with this so regularly. Take right now for instance. I literally just stopped mid-sentence after the second mention of "commitment" so that I could have an imaginary conversation with thin air and take a leak. I then had to force myself to pick up from where I left off when really I'd just rather go to sleep.

The actual writing aspect isn't the problem though. In my web-based silence, I've managed to secure a job that involves me typing words. Hooray, etc. I've also moved into a small room in the parental home, driven a considerable distance under the guidance of a man with the appropriate pedals on his side, and cried uncontrollably whilst curled up on a bare carpeted floor because a devastating bout of depression struck again. But they're all stories for a different time... probably. Except for that last one. I'll do that one now.

It's rare, but the feeling of absolute emptiness and carelessness (i.e. devoid of caring, not clumsiness) came worse this time, and there's no sure-fire way to kick start the damn feelings again. I even rolled around the floor thinking I'd rather feel sad than feel nothing. It's difficult to describe feeling nothing, you just stare vacantly ahead and let your brain recite every word it knows simultaneously, thus causing white noise in your blank head. I can't remember what got me out of it again, probably a song, or dinner. But even so, I ended up getting my wish and started to have my monotony replaced with constant sadness, which I suppose is some kind of a win.

I'd like to go on hiatus for a bit; not on the blog. Hell, I can handle the blog, although I've made an executive decision (I'm the executive of this blog, I've just decided) to switch "New Post Day" from Wednesday to Saturday. I work full weekdays now, I'm a grown-up, somehow that happened. But back to the hiatus, I really just want to fall off the radar for a bit.

I spent a week not posting to Facebook. Odd, because I've come to recognise myself as a bit of a status whore, just giving it away to the Matrix. It's also occurred to me, however, that I've become a bit of a clown. Any time I share something with the Facebook masses, it's usually some form of amusing observation, anecdotal aside or use of the word "bum" to make people laugh. And it works, evidently, if Likes are anything to go by. As for comments? Very few people speak to me these days and the loneliness of the virtual realm has started to set in. Like I said, I haven't made an update for a week, but nobody really seems to have noticed.

At the risk of sounding all angsty, emo, attention-seeking teenager with black dreadlocks and lip piercings, it's really hit home how much I want to be cared about, and how much I haven't really been getting that recently. There's really no other way to say that (trust me, words are my weapon of choice) without drawing criticism, but I want to be open and honest. I also want an overflowing bank account and to be fed grapes whilst lounging with a wreath on my head, but the openness and honesty are the bits I actually have control over.

I'll do my best to keep this thing updated once a week again, but chances are I'll be keeping away from many other forms of social interaction, virtual or otherwise. I have issues I'd prefer to moan about rather than talk about; I'm human and I just need a break.