January 30, 2012 § Leave a comment
I’ve had a few ideas recently but really no specific desire to write anything. I’m lacking a certain focus or drive – maybe an audience or an imaginary friend – and have been enjoying just not turning everything into page fodder. Being at the mercy of events rather than on top of them; what a sentence! For, what events? Epic frozen dim sim purchase and transport? I suppose I did have a homecoming, one of the better ones in years (it has been that long since I wrote…). I was feeling pretty dissatisfied with Sydney and waiting to acknowledge a warm rush of conclusiveness as my foot hit South Australian cement: ah! I’m supposed to be here. I’m not such-and-such after all but this, how silly of me all those years yada yada. But a holiday is a holiday and work is work. It seemed wonderful to eat and sleep at my mum’s house – to be mothered again I suppose, but also to feel lovely old routines – and lay by the beach while ACTUAL SUNSHINE made the pages of my languorously-read book crisp and glaring. But I would get sick of it, if I went there. The painful few. The snug, tedious assurance that one couldn’t possibly get lost or employed. The parochial newspaper I always resented as if it were a needy, infantilising parent.
So, stripped of my bi-city personal drama I decided to rest, and do some science, which was great. I wasn’t quite able to solve the dilemma of consciousness in a three week summer course but I got my first science assignment HD so who knows what the future may hold. I don’t want to say science is “harder” than the humanities… I find it harder because I have just started but the introduction of “facts” is tantalising, in as much as that there is no argument. In science one can maintain a heart rate of 60. I have been learning to read music for a while now and I find both – science and music – quite abstract and difficult to commit to memory. I don’t know, I felt so burnt out at the end of last year I decided that I don’t care much whether I explicitly succeed or fail with study, just as long as I don’t have to spend even months and certainly not years doing a job that requires me to drug myself. But I am drawn to the results in science. The possibility of 90-100% scores based on getting stuff right seems solid, productive and refreshingly simple. Not to say creativity would not be expected in later years, but if arts is arguing one’s way out of a hole then science is building one’s way out of a hole. It’s just that the latter would probably be more useful in the advent of being trapped in a hole.
It appears the South American boy has revived the ancient television in the lounge barely enough to listen to the tennis and make out a couple of snowy blobs on the screen. At least he can deduce that in this particular match the players will be opposing each other. I can hear Jim Courier, and this reminds me of red haired men.
I’m pretty sure I’m here for the next little while at least so the major issue I have been deliberating is whether or not to get a mouse. On one hand: this is going to be a tough year. Having something around that functions primarily to create mouse piss is only going to stress me out. On the other hand: a mouse. They have everything. Nose, ears. All my favourite animal parts. It might be both relaxing and philosophical, or pleasantly distracting. It would be nice caring for something again.
I’ve been reading, but that’s another post.
Other than that, I became stupidly obsessed with the death of Kurt Cobain for a couple of days. Clearly I’m not a true fan, or I would have known much of the details already, but I am a conspiracy nut so it made for great late night reading. Like it or not, this guy’s music is the soundtrack to all my first adult experiences, ’93-’94. I can’t remember whether we thought the heroin was cool, but kids were slipping these voices to each other on earphones like secrets in a war. He was a millionaire. I can’t even remember. Can’t even remember what we thought.