I sit here, at 11.54pm, writing a stupid entry, wearing a hairband (I know. I should be shot. My hair just keeps doing this annoying floppy thing, and if it continued I was damned close to shaving it all off. I decided this was less extreme.)
I’m listening to Iggy Pop, my legs are a little cold, but I can’t be bothered to close the front and back doors because my arms aren’t cold yet – it is about 23.C. I want to go to bed and I also want to stay up all night drinking tea and watching bad movies. I am happy. This is a nice feeling, as for a while there it wasn’t a familiar feeling. My skin smells of me, I am happy in my skin.
I am preparing for uni – slowly getting around the house clearing up my shit. This time last year I had just left my job and I was scared about what was about to happen. I feel calm this time. Confident? Maybe. It’s not an unknown anymore. I’m an old hand.
* * * * *
I took some photos to be enlarged the other day. I’m going to buy frames for them and find Mr. Bosch the drill and hang them. I am very proud of them. They are proof that I can be creative beyond my imagination. Some days I need hard evidence of this.
I have a plan. I know what I intend doing for the next 3-4 years. I’ve never known what I was going to do before now, it was either decided by my age – “You must be in school.” – or I was left directionless. Now I know what I am going to do. I know part of it is out of my hands – they have to offer me the position before I can accept it, but I have a feeling that even if I don’t get what I am aiming at, things will work out anyway.
I love this feeling. I want to savour it.
Hell, I’m on holidays. Who says I can’t drink tea and watch bad movies?