So the other day I was talking to a friend. As you do; just shooting the breeze. It was a ridiculously nothing conversation. So nothing I don’t even remember what we were talking about. Losing weight maybe, or writing, possibly getting some botox. Honestly, it could have been anything.
Yesterday I wrote about being frustrated and stuck. I also wrote about the well-meaning advice of “chin up” or “this too shall pass”. I wrote how none of it was really mattering to me right now. How I was stuck in rut. There’s something daunting about facing the prospects of being washed up at 40. It’s a real attitude destroyer.
Lately I find myself wondering about the usefulness of social media. Yes, it’s a great networking tool to meet like minded people you’ll never see in person I guess. But it’s not what it used to be. Back in the stone ages of Social Media the one thing I loved about it was the anonymity. No one knew who I was. I didn’t know anyone else. I was able to rant and complain and jump up and down, without fear of being called on it.
If all goes according to the Weather Fairy’s plan today, Adelaide will become the hottest city in the world, with an expected top of 46 degree’s Celsius. It’s currently heading for a top of 31 degree’s here today and that’s more than hot enough thank you very much. Some people love the heat, others the cold. Me, I’m hate them both to be honest, but at least when it’s cold you can pile on clothes to warm up.
Andrew Lloyd Weber wrote a musical about the movie Sunset Boulevard. One of the songs, has the line “The whispered conversation, in over crowded hallways”. For some reason I’ve had it stuck in my head all morning. Whispered conversations, over crowded hallways and the attempt to keep things private when you have an overwhelming need to talk.
Remember the days when you were little. There was always that one relative who thought it hysterically funny to throw you into the air. You’d squeal and laugh all at the same time. For a moment you cared about nothing, but the sense of freedom, of flying. Falling didn’t bother you in the slightest, because that one relative who ignored your mothers screams of “not so high next time he almost hit his head”, was always there to catch you. Invariably you wouldn’t stay caught for long, you’d be soaring through the air again. Completely and utterly trusting that somewhere below you was someone whose eyes never left you and whose hands were always ready to catch you.
Don’t you just love the smell of a New Year? All that potential, all those unknown months stretching towards the next time you’ll don a Santa hat at work drinks and hope to all you believe that video of you singing Helen Reddy’s I Am Woman never makes it to Youtube. A new year. More fun than the end of the financial year, and much more fun than looking back retrospectively at the year that’s just gone and the opportunities you’ve missed along the way.
Recently I’ve developed a habit. Several in fact. Last night, while participating in an orgy of self-loathing soundtracked by broadway show tunes on Youtube I came to a realisation. I came to understand something that sooner or later we all have to own our lives. The good, the bad, the incorrectly sized. Whatever we’ve got, we have to own it, because somewhere along the way, we only got what we think we deserve.
While I’ve been enjoying life as an unemployed hobo I’ve been catching up on “things”. The type of “things” you never have time for as you run in endless circles while being a good corporate hamster. One of the things I’ve been catching up on is movies and TV shows. I’ve got nothing else to do and at least with movies 90 minutes or so is sucked away in another world. I sort of feel like the character in Catch-22 who does nothing in the belief that doing nothing makes life last longer.
I still remember the story my Aunt told my mother when I was younger, about a friend of my cousin’s and his trip to Europe. Turns out, my Uncle wasn’t the most anally retentive gardner in the street and one of the neighbours had a garden gnome that took pride of place in the front garden. As my cousin’s friends were heading to the airport they pinched the gnome and took it with them throughout Europe. They sent home post cards to the gnomes mum and dad and in the middle of the night the gnome returned from his European adventure with a little cardboard suitcase full of souvenirs.