I wanted to write a personal blog tonight. I’ve attempted three different entries and deleted all of them. I’ve tried to talk about a feeling of numbness, where I watched a film this evening that always makes me cry and yet my eyes were dry. I’ve tried to talk about memory, normally a rich vein of topics, but I can’t get a grasp on anything – it’s like trying to climb a wall of solid marble. I’ve tried to talk about how I’m a selfish man, set in his ways of living alone, fixated only on the pursuit of creativity. But who really wants to hear the self-indulgent wank of a man who has, fundamentally, nothing to complain about?
It has been a strange month. A dark month, punctuated by an acute attack of anxiety and general aggressiveness. And even though I think the worst is over, there are still shadows lurking that need to be sidestepped. I may be looking at the light at the end of the tunnel, but I am still in the tunnel. It is not a time to be complacent. Not in any self-destructive sense – because that has not and will never enter my mind – but just in terms of thinking the worst is over. Thinking I can sit down, with the right music, and the right words, and try to write something meaningful. Words that feel hot or cold, rather than words lost in an airless vacuum.
I don’t like feeling numb. I’d rather feel desperately sad than numb. But for now, it is just something to ride out. Hence this empty entry, devoid of meaning, feeling and commitment. Just air inside a paper bag. And yet I still have a compulsion to record it.
Today is my 34th birthday. I’m trying to close my eyes and think of the people who have come and gone in those 34 years, the people who I still know and miss. But when I shut my eyes, all I wish for is sleep. All I wish for, is a month of tomorrows.