A Journal Entry

My favourite time of the day is just after I’ve finished work and returned home. That bit where I lay down on my bed and listen to birdsong through the open window. Closing my eyes and drifting away but never falling asleep, I think of everything that I’ve ever experienced. People I’ve known, places I’ve visited. Ex lovers and old routines to the journeys I used to take to school all those years long since gone. Because I’m so tired, it all seems so real and lucid to me. So vivid. All of my memories, coming alive once again. Faces shining brightly for the first time in eons. Locations suddenly feeling tangible, as if I’m actually there in that bedroom where I spent so many months fucking and writing. As if I’m back walking by the side of the river holding her hand and looking out across the endless green field one Saturday afternoon. All of those summers, and those romantic winters I thought were gone and lost forever. Yet they never were, I was just keeping them safe within me. Waiting for the right time to taste them once more. And there’s no loneliness going back, no regret at the places I never see, or the people that have fallen by the wayside. I celebrate them, marvel at having them in my heart as if they never left. It’s only fleeting of course, less than an hour or so before I’m wide awake. But for that brief period, it feels wonderful. With the sun shining as I travel the layers of my mind, nothing from the world touches me apart from the songs the birds sing in the trees outside my window.

Adrift and at peace is what I am. All of my worries someplace else.

Today, like any other day, has been unspectacular. I woke at 6am and worked my 7-4 shift without incident. I have a mundane job. It’s poorly paid. But it’s one I’ve deliberately chosen. I wanted something with the least amount of responsibility. I have both a Degree and a Masters Degree from the two universities I attended, yet I’m doing a job that requires no qualifications whatsoever. It’s a waste of what I am, and I love it. I never wanted to become the type of person that exists solely to work. I’m more than a job, and I’ve always tried my hardest never to forget that. I’m interested in love. In the pursuit of expressing myself, of discovering all the words and feelings inside of me trying desperately to get out. Having a well paying job and becoming a non-believer like everyone else isn’t something I ever wanted. This of course is frowned upon, but I couldn’t care less. Consciously and subconsciously, I have been planting the seeds for this way of life for many, many years.

Tonight I’ll relax. I don’t have work tomorrow, so I’ll stay up and do some writing over a bottle of wine. I’ve struggled with drinking over the years, but recently things have been good. A bottle of wine to write to isn’t a problem. I don’t drink because I think it’s arty, but rather because it’s in my blood and I find it brings out something in me that’s otherwise silent. A little slice of truth that can’t help but feed on the dizzying taste of alcohol. When it’s just me and my thoughts with no sign of restraint, the magic is powerful. Of course when I wake up tomorrow with a headache and an aversion to sunlight, I’ll look at what I’ve written and throw most of it away. But the stuff I keep makes it all worthwhile. That’s the stuff that ignites me, that sets me up for a good day of writing and daydreaming. Walking around the quarry, no doubt I’ll have tears in my eyes from the visions and emotions swirling inside my heart and mind.

In the meantime, I’ll watch the sun go down and do a little reading. I’ve been feeling broody of late, but the only woman I ever want children with doesn’t want to know. There’s not much I can do, I’ve told her how I feel and what she means to me, yet she’s given me nothing back in return. It’s not the nicest of feelings, but not one I haven’t felt before. I try not to think about her, but it’s a fruitless task. In my heart, I know I’m fighting a losing battle. Oh well, such is life they say. All I can do is say the things that shouldn’t be kept hidden, and express myself the best I can. Others are free to choose what they do with my words, they can use them however they like. It’s their life, and their journey, with or without me.

Carpe Diem.

Categories: Journal

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