So I guess there comes a time when all things go full circle. I started this blog back in May of 2012 to discuss creative recovery and over the time it’s been around I’ve done that, talked about creativity, writers block, being yourself, getting sober, getting drunk, quitting smoking and a myriad of other tidbits that make up my life. Lately I’ve sort of lost the main thread and focus of Writing in Shadows.
I really love water. It soothes me. That’s a good thing. It can be vicious and it can be murderous, but it can also be refreshing and rejuvenating and frankly the world always looks better after a nice summer storm. Not a Queensland style Summer storm cause they tend to be a bit above trend to be honest, but a Sydney Summer storm.
23 years ago I was sentenced to death and stinky breath for the crime of being stupid. Well, not really but it sounded good. My ongoing battle with cigarettes and smoking is well documented in here. It seems to be a constant theme. “I quit” “no I didn’t” “yes I did” “the cravings are hard”.
I’ve written before about how difficult I am currently finding it to experience unemployment. About the nagging doubts that I’m fat, 40 and washed up. I’ve talked before about how I’ve somehow found myself in exactly the same place I was in 7 years ago, when my brain broke and I ended up crawling into my parents downstairs bedroom to hide in the dark and lick my wounds. I’ve written about it all before. And I am done.
Seasons come and seasons go. It’s the nature of Seasons. Summer gives way to Autumn (Fall), Autumn gives into the cooler embrace of Winter, and Winter when her time is done, moves away, giving space for Spring to cover the world in flowers, and pollen and bees and baby animals.
Last night, as I was lying in bed, trying to go to sleep with a headache that made it almost impossible to put my head on the pillow I got to thinking about the 1960’s TV show Gilligan’s Island, or more accurately, why Mrs Thurston Howell the 3rd went on a 3 hour trip with a wardrobe that rivalled the mythical samples closet at Vogue.
Yesterday I came up with a brilliant story idea. I mean it was brilliant. What’s the equivalent of winning an Oscar for writing a novel? That sort of brilliant. It really was. It would blow you away. I was sitting on the bed, minding my own business, giggling to myself at how brilliant the idea was. How original. When it got to the original bit, I sort of stumbled. It wasn’t original at all. It was an idea I’d had about 6 years ago that I’d forgotten all about until I saw the image of a teenage girl dressed all in black, looking lovingly at a pink hair ribbon. It was then that I got to wondering “Have I already been given all the ideas I’m going to have, or has the universe decided that it’s time for me to use just one of the ones I’ve already got?”
Sometimes you just need to take a day off. Friday night I went to the pub. I drank wine. I listened to people sing Karaoke and I sang along quietly to myself. I don’t sing in public. I wish I could just let go and have fun. I get terrified at the thought of doing anything in the spotlight. So I hung out at the back of the bar drinking wine, and somewhere throughout the night started smoking again.
So this morning during my wander around the foreshore I started detoxing my thinking machine. I breathed in deep, I let it out, once or twice I was tempted to shake it all about, but I didn’t. No one needs to see see a 40 year old waving his thinking machine around a public thorough-fare.
During my morning walk today I got thinking about how I’d spent my unemployment so far. As I was thinking about watching 7 seasons of Criminal Minds and 5 seasons of Bones it got me wondering “How old do you have to be, for it to stop being sexy blaming your parents for everything that has gone wrong in your life”?