Monday 20th October 2014:
Every once in a while I feel as though I need to reinvent myself. Divest myself of the old and outworn, and don a new outfit, a new façade that will present, hopefully, a better version of me. Although I’m not sure that, ‘better’ is the word I’m looking for here. Different maybe, just not that.
I’ve had the wind knocked out of my sails lately, as I have fought the dragon within me insisting on expanding its wings to full capacity, threatening to tear the old me to shreds. What is making this difficult is that the paper cut-out that has been me for quite some time now, is refusing to budge, treating the dragon like a monstrous enemy instead of the immensely creative force that it is. I have simply outgrown my own skin, so to speak, and I seek new adventures, new ways of thinking that are less restricted by the dogma of a life only two dimensionally lived.
I am all of a sudden bereft of any feelings of self pride, I feel quite unexceptional in all kinds of ways, my mediocre hat firmly anchored to my head. The fight to change and grow has taken it out of me, but the dragon is intent on flying, as much as paper-me is trying to invoke lamination powers.
The only thing I feel exceptional at, is being me, for all that’s worth. Defiantly, clinging on to my last scrap of dignity I can proclaim that no-one is as good at being me as I am, even though I no longer know what that is, and even though it means little except to the wind that now whistles through my peripheral space. Shame no-one’s paying attention to my one-person drama. Everybody wants to talk, but no-one really listens. I want to talk, but god knows no-one has ever listened to me, and why should they when we all have our own private, selfish agendas that serve to preserve a reasonable order of pecking? I know the game, I’ve played it for years. You’ve played it too.
I feel as though I have been biting my tongue forever. Refraining from speech because, frankly people only want to talk about themselves. I’m not saying I’m any different, it just seems it takes an exceptional soul to take a genuine interest in others, to revel in their mysteries and magic like looking through one of my Nan’s old tea-chests, that were always full of toys, knick-knacks, and other interesting treasures. I have a rummage and I find a dark blue rubber ball, in a tone of blue that is reminiscent of the late 60s, a tone of blue that would now seem quite retro. I remember holding that ball in my hand, dreaming of the possibilities of play that it promised. I’ve been holding this ball in my mind for the past few days, waiting for the penny to drop and indicate what it symbolises. What is my subconscious trying to tell me, I ask myself?
On the theme of nostalgic recollections, the other day I came across the first vinyl album I ever owned as a kid, now immortalised in digital format through the auspices of YouTube. And although it was fascinating, almost thrilling to listen to after so many years of absence, I believe it triggered a landslide that has managed to pick up some ferocious momentum since, crashing through my inner landscape mercilessly, until almost every last piece of me has been covered in silt and debris.
I sit now with the weight of the past four decades resting heavily upon my shoulders it seems, feeling instead like four hundred decades. Stress fractures already snaking through the architectural structure of my selfhood, threatening to undermine my very foundations. Part of me wants to throw my hands up and let the bloody thing collapse, burying all the years of crap with it. Part of me yet, is afraid of letting it all go completely, because it feels like I’m cutting and running again. Although, years of repeated experience has taught me there is no virtue in hanging on to things that have run their course, even if there are threads of hope hanging from their fraying hems. Foolishly you take hold, only to discover that the whole thing comes undone, unravelling with untenable speed because it was already worn beyond repair.
I am an insufferable idiot beyond merit.
My only saving grace, ironically, has been Bill and his dedicated support. I say ironically, because I struggle to secure allegiance with my daughter Grace, who should have been my saving grace too. But that’s another story.