IÂ’m sitting at my desk engulfed in another period of self-reflection. The powers of sleep deprivation never cease to amaze. I have realized that if I ever branch off and devote myself to creative writing, then I would advise myself to both remain single and get more often than not, less than the desired amount of sleep. No. I donÂ’t see myself as one of those artists attacking their body with drugs and alcohol binges. Not when all it seems to take is less than 6.5 Â– 7 hours of sleep a night. Then. Yes then, the juices flow and the creativity surges.
On Saturday evening while sitting at the local drinking hole going over the usual topics when a friend remarked to something I said, something to the effect of Â“Really?Â” His comment caught me by surprise and IÂ’m not entirely sure why. Perhaps it was the honesty and deliberate curiosity of the statement. Moreover, as I continue to recycle the same things that IÂ’ve thought about for the better part of 7 or even 8 years, I realize that perhaps yes I can. It is something that I am prepared to live through and have started to consider a distinct possibility. At the very least, it is more than the hollow threat aimed at my weak Â“instigation skillsÂ”. You know, itÂ’s amazing how many people when I have discussed this topic have said something to the effect of, Â“no you wonÂ’t. YouÂ’re a blah blah blahÂ…and this will happen or that has to happen or you wonÂ’t notice and you will this and that will that and so on and so forth, et cetera, et cetera.Â”
What really shocked me about what he said was that he is the first person to acknowledge the possibility of this greatest of fears becoming reality. And you know, IÂ’m surprised that more people have not recognized this. I can easily see how it might enfold (or perhaps already is). Work occupies a large portion of my life. Granted, I enjoy it but it does require my undivided attention. But, when thatÂ’s done, thereÂ’s the required daily workout. Plus, with my propensity towards obsessive effort in my fitness, there goes another chunk of my time. Hell, that obsessiveness is in the process of being rekindled as the bike ride in France has clearly demonstrated. So what does that leave me? ThereÂ’s my down time, eating, drinking, and sleeping. Oh yeah, then thereÂ’s fun stuff like social encounters with acquaintances. Of course those can always be substituted by videos at home and a good book. Ah hah! And so now, where do I find the time to meet people when my exercising has always been a personal thing, as will my research be? Plus, why would I want to possibly put myself in a situation in which I might find my ability to focus on these other things jeopardized? Is it not so obvious? ThereÂ’s no time for things like relationships and with the life that I currently find myself living, how could it possibly workout? I might also throw in that I have become quite used to living alone and God forbid I ever dream of interrupting that pattern.
Alas. Here we are and here I am. And yet, I cannot escape it. ThereÂ’s the basic biological desire to propagate the species and keep alive the family name. It does die with me. And you know, for all their shit kids do kick ass. I absolutely adore children and canÂ’t wait to have some of my own. I see people with their own kids and more often than not I look on longingly imagining a little Prudhomme of my own. WhatÂ’s more, I know for a fact that IÂ’d make an excellent father. Thus, how could I pass that up? Then thereÂ’s all that romantic crap, that I actually like.
So, IÂ’m in a bit of a pickle. Quite ready to face the possibility of continuing as I am now though looking for something. Looking for something more though unwilling or unable, or even too slow to do anything to change that. This takes me back to facing the prospect of permanent loneliness, which yet again takes me to the longing. And so on. It revolves eternally.
You know. I do sometimes wonder if there are others out there who feel the same way, at least some of the time. In fact, IÂ’ve always been fascinated by thoughts and feelings of other individuals; past, present, and future. I also feel a need to identify with on some level characters in the movies that I watch and the books that I read. You can extend this to music as well. That would also explain my problem with finding enjoyment out of many works of art, from auditory to visual to the written word whose central figures are women. And so, perhaps, other than venting my frustrations in media like this I may be also giving someone what others give to me.
Yeah. So now IÂ’ll mull about lifeguards and four and a half weeks and boyfriends and age difference. Ah, the ails of socially constructed planet.
P.S. And in closing. Why are so many people reading Â“A Boo Hoo storyÂ”? ItÂ’s just another piece of creative drivel and is little more than fiction concocted from a bunch of different emotional states. Did I say something it causes people to find when performing searches? IÂ’m baffled. Ah well. Tomorrow I aim to beat my 1 hour and 16 minute time for the mile hill run. Ultimate goal? 1 hour.