I hate packing. Packing and I are at odds with each other, because it seems no matter how much packing I do more needs to be done. Packing is like a small child screaming for attention in a supermarket, and I’m getting weary of its cries. I didn’t know I owned so much stuff; I didn’t think the Tsar of Russia could own the amount of stuff I do.
Where do we as human beings accumulate all our stuff? And then we buy buildings in which to place all our stuff to keep all our stuff dry, and then when we have too much stuff, we move to a bigger storage facility to house it all.
My carefully constructed series of pathways have dissolved under the burden of all the boxes, so I’m having to get around by hopping over them instead. For safety purposes all my meals are being taken cold.
No SuWriMos update today. A shame upon my head …
Falling behind under piles of stuff.
Stuff! Stuff everywhere! Books, boxes, clothes, stationary! Everywhere. On the good side I found a box filled with things I thought I had accidentally thrown away when I last moved. These things I really did need for University, and I ended up spending funds replacing them; they included a pack of paper, polly-pockets, and overhead projector sheets. I’m happy about that find, and if I had enough room in which to do a jig of joy I would, but as it happens my once vast apartment is becoming ever more cramped. No jumping room … barely any walking room. I navigate via a series of deliberate spaces between my many packing projects. To get from the hall to the kitchen you have to veer around a labyrinth of DVD storage containers (I’m trying to give-away films I no longer watch very often), and then take a left (the right is blocked by a ‘charity clothes’ box) at the needlework and craft-things area.
The essentials which are being used everyday are in a safe-haven on the wall-side of the bed, where I can access them easily when I get up. Making a meal has become a hazardous affair. Yesterday evening I needed to drain a pan full of boiling pasta into the sink. Making a misjudgment in my stride I almost tripped over a stack of books, and barely managed to keep from being scolded when I splashed the water. Fortunately, the only casualty was a washing basket. He’ll get over it I’m sure.
SuWriMos update! 59,800/100,000 … appalling. 800 words in 3 days isn’t much to brag about, but with the move, I think I have a decent excuse. Some Gaians commented my Gaia account with some heart-warming encouragement, and I thank you. Although, I think until the move is over I won’t be getting too many words written. Who knows.
If I survive making tonight’s supper I’ll maybe do some more word-smithing this evening, and then resume the packing fiasco tomorrow.
I have a lot of stuff, and I have recently been putting all my material possessions into boxes so that I can transport them to a new space between four walls, one much smaller than I currently reside in. This means that either I’m not going to be able to walk safely around my new pad, or I’m going to have to get rid of most of what I own. I’ve chosen the latter choice, which is hard because I get so easily attached to things. When I find something I have forgotten about for months on end, I’ll make a resolution to remember I have it, and tell myself it’ll come in handy if a certain event should arise, and then I’ll put it away somewhere and forget I own it. Hopeless pack-rats have nothing on me. Time to sever my attachments and force myself to gut the clutter of objects which I’ll never use.
So far in the minimal sorting I have managed to do I have found a small decorate box filled with fairy stationary, which I didn’t know I had, and a scary faced angel ornament you could only picture in your most unnerving nightmares. Both have been placed in a large box in the corner of the kitchen marked ‘Charity’. During my residency here, I also procured a dusky portrait of the New-York skyline for free, and that is sadly being placed in the same bundle. There are a few books which have managed to stow-away on my shelves without my notice for the past eleven months, which I will never read – into the charity pile with those too.
Assembled all about me are archive boxes obtained a few years back from my Mother’s law firm, as well as self-assembly storage crates snagged from GAME before they closed. Everything is filling up rather quickly, and I’m running out of space to actually pack things in. Luckily, my new abode is only a fifteen minute walk from this apartment otherwise I’d be in deep trouble. I’ll probably have to cart some things down there in a suitcase a bit at a time before my Father comes down in a week to move me completely.
In the meantime, I’m still clinging to SuWriMos, but finding that a cluttered space isn’t a nice environment to keep a healthy writing ethic. Those of you who have joined the three-month pen-pushing period on Gaia seem to be doing will in your efforts. I’m slightly behind schedule at just under 59,000, but that included the blog posts, and some short-story work. The novel isn’t nearly as far gone as I hoped it would be at this stage, but we’re only just half-way through and we all have many days left before we hit September to catch up. In other words, fear not, the game isn’t over until the fat-lady’s wrist snaps.
The phrase ‘You can’t have your cake and eat it too,’ is, it seems to me, incorrect. When one has a cake, one can indeed ‘eat it too’ if that is what one desires. Having a cake in front of you means that the choice to consume it remains open. However, if one decides to eat a cake, then one can no longer possess the cake – convoluted terms about possession put aside for now. Physically when a cake is eaten it is no longer a cake, instead it is a broken-down assortment of chemicals filed into energy and excess materials. Therefore, you can’t have it any longer.
To summarise, you can ‘have your cake and eat it too’ because having precedes the act of eating, however, you cannot eat your cake and have it too, because when the former is done the later is impossible.
In any case having a cake is devoid of point if it is not possessed for the purpose of devouring. If cake is not eaten is goes stale and becomes useless in its cause. So ‘have your cake and eat it too.’ And share it – ‘Have your cake and let your friends eat it too’. Life’s too short for wasted cake.
I was woken up at 2:30 this morning by a phone-call from a close friend who just wanted a chat, which is never a problem. Unfortunately, I had been silly enough to retire quite late and was only a few hours into sleep, and only a few minutes into a dream. The call woke me in the middle of a fairly peculiar one. In a kitchen in a house I had once lived in many years ago someone, I can’t recall who, asked me a question which I do not remember and I answered with the words: “Like train tracks on the kitchen tiles and tables rigged with windows”. Frustrating, because if I had any clue as to what was asked of me, I might understand why I gave such a strange reply. However, I am grateful to my friend for waking me when he did, because I might not have remembered them otherwise, and I like them; they are mysterious words with many possibilities. Normally, I don’t dream so philosophically. I plan to use these words later in a context: perhaps a poem or in a metaphor in a story. This is not the last to be seen of them.
After being woken, and a subsequent half-an-hour phone conversation, I was unable to get back to sleep. My mind was too alive, and the screeching sea-gulls outside the window did little to help, so I stayed awake and kept myself preoccupied. I read, and listened to quiet music, and contemplated chapter 2, and thought about how tired I would be at work in seven hours, and then in five hours. Eventually, I did drift back into dream-land just as the sun was turning the sky a lighter shade of navy (A Lighter Shade of Navy would make a good band-name, or novel title, no?), and two hours later I was woken by the alarm, and I got up and I showered and I went to work.
A few weeks ago the shop I worked at closed down and I was moved to an alternative store; things are a little upside down at the moment. Suddenly, I am required to work a piece of technology I have never really had to before, and no set schedule has been formed to teach me, and everything is not where I know it to be. I’m on the look-out for a new job in something more adequate to the degree I have just completed, so I do not anticipate I will be there much longer, but for the term I do continue there I hope to be of better use. Four people behind a counter – three can use the till with good pace and harnessed skill, and one (me) can use it barely and only with someone to input the number I am not yet allowed access to. Really, I feel surplus to requirement. I do hope that changes.
On a random note, when the fixtures were being taken from the old store, I took possession of this. … …. I work at a UK video games retailer called GAME. This is the second letter of that brand name unscrewed from the wall. Another member took the ‘G’ so for three days we were formally known as ‘ME’.
More hours next week (12 in fact), which means either a) more time for hands-on till training, or b) more time dawdling around drawers and opening tills hoping to be hit by neither and trying to find a way to be useful. My hopes lay with a (My Hopes Lay with A another great band-name).
After work Andreas and I met up for a Starbucks. Seeing him is always great fun and greatly self-empowering. He’s one of those types of people. He bought me cake before telling me some important news, which I didn’t know how to respond to. In two days he leaves to receive teacher training in Cypress and then he is off to London for a week; before he gets back I will have moved out of the apartment I have been living in for eleven months. For the very last time, Andreas came to my apartment, a milestone which made time seem so dreadfully important. We watched a film and then he departed. I took this picture of him inside my apartment:
and this one of him walking away from it.
I’m starting a journal; an online journal, and like so many things I’ve begun in my life I’m finding the beginning to be difficult. I have pondered with great effort where I should start and what I should talk about, but I worry about sounding both pretentious and self-important. Do I start with an introduction? Would anyone want to hear about my age, my job, my hobbies, in a simple dish-it-out, me-on-a-cracker type of format? I wouldn’t. So, we’ll skip the boring play-by-play of who I am and move forward.
Beginnings are scary, I think for most people, because you can rarely, if ever, change them. For example, I can’t eliminate from your mind the very first impression of me you have after reading that opening paragraph. That opportunity has flown the coup. Sure, I could go back and delete it now, but you would have already seen it and thus formed a perfectly natural judgement of what kind of person I am that nothing but your own thought processes can change. Similarly, if I were to open a business and I invested everything I had into the venture including my house, my life-savings (neither of which I have right now) and incurred a serious amount of debt, I would be unable to un-start the project. If half-way through I find my invention of a radio-pencil isn’t selling, and the radio-pencil emporium is quickly losing my money, I could not (short of a time machine) go back and decide to not begin the project safe with the knowledge of knowing what would happen if I did. And so, starting is hard, because without clairvoyance the risk factors involved are relatively unpredictable. After all, if everyone had loved my radio-pencils, despite the prediction that they wouldn’t, my beginning a business would have had a more positive outcome.
Unless you are one of the few lucky people in the world who enjoy an enormous freedom of complete spontaneity, chances are the question “should I?” enters your mind several times a day. Subsequently, if you’re anything like me, you probably analyze everything involved, like how much you stand to lose if the thing you are starting fails to have the outcome you desire. However, the truth of the matter is, if you don’t start you don’t know. I mentioned earlier that humans do not possess a third-sight which will allow them to predict their futures, and so while you will be unaware as to whether a venture won’t result in what you want, you are also unaware as to whether it will. Perhaps what we should start concentrating on is whether or not that knurling feeling of never knowing is easier to bear than failure. In my experience I have regretted the advantages I didn’t take more than the ones I have which haven’t gone the way I imagined they would.
In ten years I could be in a number of different scenarios, but let’s focus on just a few for the moment, one where I have started and then lost my enthusiasm, and a future in which this post never happened at all. In the first instance, perhaps I might not have achieved what I wanted, like my radio-pencil venture, but I will know I didn’t let the ship sail on without me, and I have much more life-experience than the second me who was too afraid to even start what she might not finish. The me who was afraid of failure and let it keep her from trying will be stuck with the constant “what ifs” of hind sight.
If we never execute our ideas or try for what we want then we’ll never get it. Like many an early morning so competition we have to be “in-it-to-win-it”. Someone who has tried an idea and failed has still gained more than the one who never bothered at all, and no matter how long you may ponder and wait, eventually you have to do something for the first time in order to get it done.
As John Henry Cardinal once said: “Fear not that thy life shall come to an end, but rather fear that it shall never have a beginning.”
Kudos if you got here, dear hypothetical reader, by actually reading all of the above. I must say I didn’t expect to go so long. I promise not all posts (assuming I stick to this) will be this long and convoluted. Moreover, some of this was inspired by Zefrank:
and if any of you are more than hypothetical you should go and check him out.