Feeling kind of dead on my feet at the moment. Also strangely out of sorts, filled with a creeping sense of emptiness. Maybe the glimpse of freedom that was a weekend in Bristol just set me up for the fall that these final three weeks of term have always promised, being so crammed with all kinds of activities that I really don’t think I have the energy to do justice to. All I want to do is withdraw into an empty space, set my head, heart and soul back on the path to… well, the path to whatever it is I want to be on the path to. See, even that eludes me. Maybe it always has. What the fuck DO I want from life? And did I ever know?
My current reading is M. J. Hyland’s How The Light Gets In and I just read a reference to someone turning 33 and realising they hadn’t done any of the things they’d wanted to, and being therefore filled with a sense of regret and failure. I thought about it and wondered… I mean, 33 is too young an age to put on judging your life anyway (it being the age Christ died is a bit of an arbitrary reference point after all), but still, what did I hope to have achieved by this point in my life? I ask myself this question and I have no idea. I don’t remember what or where or who I thought I would be at this age. I have never really been able to plan things in advance like that; the future has always seemed to me to be an empty chasm of inky blackness. I just don’t think about it.
I have always been crap at those kind of ‘where do you see yourself in five years’ questions. Fuck that. I don’t care about that. I just want to do cool stuff, hear great records, see great films, art, whatever… make stuff, let it all go the way it wants to go naturally. Christ, maybe I’m just a fucking hippy at heart.
And then the Jasmine Minks break into my thoughts, and that line of ‘do you need direction?’ echoed by its answer of ‘you know I do’ rings around in my head and I wonder… I wonder…