Tomorrow Never Comes

Wow I am actually fairly impressed with myself. It hasn’t in fact taken me another two months to pen my next blog instalment. I’ve never really thought of myself as being an overachiever but perhaps I haven’t been doing myself justice.

I’ve been stuck in a funk of late. Kind of going through the motions rather haphazardly. I could make a lot of excuses for why that’s the case. Work commitments, spreading myself too thin, general apathy, who knows? When all is said and done, they’re just excuses. I have a feeling I’ve just been picking the path of least resistance.

I appreciate that I am being a bit hard on myself because it’s not as though I’ve suddenly become a slovenly hermit. But I seem to have made peace with mediocrity in the interim. I’m not sure that’s tolerable. I’m feeling restless. Not in a ‘I must suddenly go out and buy a pink spandex outfit and go bungee jumping’ kind of way. After all it’s a bit early for a mid-life crisis. It’s more profound than that I hope.

Somebody said something to me the other day about engaging fully with the present, giving it your full attention. It really resonated with me because too often we are too focused on the future, or wasting time chastising ourselves for mistakes we’ve made in the past, instead of just making the most of now. Obviously that’s a lot easier said than done and I’m not advocating the ‘living each day as if it were your last’ approach because in reality that’s impractical and delusional. Rather I’m on a mission to make the most of what I have. It starts with the simple things. If I’m talking to someone, then I’m going to really talk to them. I’m not going to pretend to listen to them whilst simultaneously checking in on Facebook on my mobile. Perhaps therein lays the problem. Instead of attempting to do everything at once, I’m going to do one thing at time and do it properly.

In any event talk is cheap. I’m interested to see if I can put it into practice. Perhaps I’ll conduct a social experiment for a week. Commit to spending the next 7 days full engaged in the present, no matter how mundane or trivial it might be at that moment in time. Who knows perhaps I’ll find it’s not all it’s cracked up to be but then again…

It Feels so Good to Scratch

Writing is a disingenuous muse. A fair-weather friend. Happy to roll off the tongue when the sun is shining, but less inclined to rouse itself from under the covers when a cool temperament has taken hold.

 

Getting back into writing is akin to stage fright. All the lines are perfectly rehearsed but as soon as the spotlight starts burning, sweat trickles down my back and I become fluent in gibberish. I can’t say I have writer’s block because I’ve never really considered myself to be a writer. I’m more a collector of thoughts. A soundboard for lunacy.

 

My writing malaise is seemingly an addiction. I’m aware I have a problem. Apparently acceptance is the first step. But knowing you have a problem doesn’t stop you from ignoring it just the same. Sadly I’ve been swept along by the current of denial.

 

Writing was, or should be, one of my favourite pastimes. An escape from the by the numbers 9 to 5 tomfoolery. My mind was a crack shot at creating decibels out of silence. Creative tangents in a linear reality.

 

The well of ideas is a yawning chasm. The bucket lies in the dust disused and ignored. A reminder that thirst is fleeting. You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink. Still waters run deep. I take a deep breath and dive in. That’s just a convoluted way of saying I have been bitten by the writing mosquito and it feels so good to scratch.

HOUSE BROKEN

Where do I begin? A question often asked by directionally challenged runners and in this case me. I haven’t blogged in so long it almost seems disingenuous to refer to myself as a blogger. Thankfully my lack of verbosity isn’t due to bone idleness or inclement apathy rather it’s a by-product of circumstance.

John Lennon once said life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans. Sadly for John life had other plans for him. During my sabbatical from WordPress I have begun a journey that many people tentatively refer to as ‘growing up’. Rather fortuitously it hasn’t sucked as much as I thought it would. That doesn’t mean to suggest that I think being an adult is awesome. It just means with the right amount of imagination, and a sense of humour, life can be pleasurable at best and mediocre at worst.

My groundbreaking, earth shattering, read all about it, news is that I have become a man of means. I broke open my piggy bank, counted all the spare change, and decided on a whim to buy a house. I jest of course it wasn’t a whim, it was more of a crap myself moment when I realised how much houses were and how poor I was going to be as a result in the foreseeable future.

Of course I only have myself to blame. I am, to paraphrase Madonna, just a material boy. I could have bought a hovel. I would have had a roof over my head and enough money left over to use it as wallpaper. Sadly however I had stars in my eyes and many years of being brainwashed by Cribs had led me to believe that a 12 person Jacuzzi was a right not a luxury.

In the end I decided to buy a palace. Okay technically speaking it’s not strictly a palace. There’s no moat surrounding the house although there is a fair amount of electric fencing around the perimeter. Shocking I know but true nonetheless. The garden is so large I imagine that if I take a wrong turning it might take me a week before I find my way back to civilisation. The pool is daunting. The pessimist in me says I’d never be able to hold my breath long enough to swim a lap underwater. The optimist in me says a couple of laps a week and I’ll soon have the physique of Michael Phelps. Obviously I like lying to myself.

Despite the many charms of the house, and my overriding excitement at the fact that I can walk around the house butt naked if I so please, I take a look at the garden and there’s only one thought that fills my head. I can get a puppy! At this stage I’m leaning towards getting a Labrador. I picture us hitting the wooded trails and running many ‘happy’ miles together. A companion to my crazy convoluted impression that running is fun. In reality I’ll probably be spending my life cleaning up dog poop in the garden. But for now I’m happy to let my imagination call the shots…

Don’t Dip Your Pen in the Company Ink

Picture the scene. Feel free to incorporate a soundtrack as well if it catches your fancy. Might I suggest something by Mayday Parade or for those less inclined to my musical whims perhaps something befitting the occasion like Chariots of Fire.

There I was sitting at my desk, oddly I find standing to be a chore, wondering whether time would pass by slower if I stared at the little clock in the corner of my computer screen or if I stared at the ceiling. In case your curiosity was piqued, the ceiling in my office is surprisingly well maintained. It then dawned on me, by way of association, that I had never actually been horizontal in my office. This made me rather sad. After all one of the joys of working in a large corporate environment is the opportunity for inter-office dalliances. Perhaps because everyone is so straight-laced at work we desire to discover what lies beneath. It could be that or it could just be the fact that most people are horny and secretly believe they’ll never be caught.

If these walls could talk is often what springs to mind when I recall all of the shenanigans that have taken place at what would outwardly appear to be a creative if somewhat staid working environment. The truth is you never really know someone until you’ve witnessed the transformation that takes place after they’ve had a couple of drinks. Suddenly your boss becomes your best friend. Awkward? Well yes and no, depending on how many drinks you’ve had yourself. There’s open and honest and then there’s OPEN and HONEST. Your boss for example doesn’t need to know that you collect pantyhose in your spare time but by the same token remember everything your boss tells you. What is inappropriate now makes for great blackmail material later down the road. True story. Oh and while I have your attention. Trust no one… ever!

Sadly, or not I suppose depending on your libido and your standards, female colleagues go from being somewhat alluring to downright irresistible after a couple of tequilas. Of course you also inevitably end up discovering that make-up is a necessity for some women rather than a luxury. I just re-read that part and now I feel bad. Okay I’m better now. Right so you’ve slept with your colleague. Now what? Sure she’s cute but now it’s boring. Thank God you work together after all she’s not going to cause a scene if you tell her you want to cool it. Hmm lets review that shall we. Female, check. Emotions, check. Rational… I take it you see where I’m going with this. A woman scorned contrary to what you may think is not a friend for life. I admit men aren’t that much better when they happen to be on the receiving end of an exit wink. We may not be big on theatrics but we sure know how to hold a grudge. Is this good for overall productivity? Fuck who cares. But it sure doesn’t make for a pleasant working environment.

As my dad always said, ‘never dip your pen in the company ink.’ Of course I had no idea what he was on about and wrote it down to the fact that he was going senile. Now that I’m older I realise I was just a really slow kid…