Does
anyone else get that sort of excited, knot-in-the-stomach feeling,
like something amazing and life changing and brilliant’s going to
happen? Something important that you’ve been waiting for, even if
you didn’t know it. I only ask because I’ve had it for a few days
now and nothing’s happened, or at least nothing that’s
registered. Well, that or I’ve got magical wind or some sort of
tingly tumour, but we’ll assume it’s the pleasure of
subconsciously anticipated wonders because that’s less toilety and
terminal.
It’s
a good sensation at least, a bit like a constant, mild version of an
actors opening night butterflies, or the glowing tickle of friendly
trepidation on a first date. It had better not just be me or I’m
going to look like a right berk. Anyway, it’s pleasant as I say, so
it has that on its side, it’s just – it’s just nothing’s
different elsewhere – so I find myself questioning its presence,
which is perfectly healthy and normal I’m sure. I’m sure people
question their happiness all the time, I mean, it’s not natural is
it?
I
suppose I’m healthier than I’ve ever been before. I’m not
smoking, I’m into the running thing, I’m eating pretty well, and
all these things are making physical differences, so eventually I may
have an external beauty that makes up for my cripplingly corrosive
personality, or at least offers some sort of sweetener. But it’s
not that. I’m making an effort to ‘get out there’ and meet new
people, try new stuff and all that apparently positive, self
affirming stuff, and it’s not always easy for me, or the people I
end up meeting, the poor, unsuspecting bastards. But I don’t think
it’s that either. No, it’s not that because that’s a normal
thing, isn’t it, I’m just describing being a normal person there.
So not that. It’s not that I’ve got myself a lovely young (or
slightly older) lady, because I haven’t.
As
I relentlessly bang on about, I have a habit for being drawn towards
those already spoken for and that is the case again, so there’s not
even a chance there. Not even a fictional one I can create in my
mind. I have managed to realise that sometimes it’s just fairly
brilliant to know that person at all, and to not get all weird about
it though, so that’s good. But it’s not that either. Feel free to
chip in at any point, because I’m running out of ideas here. No?
Well thanks a bunch.
I’m
not overly enamoured with my occupation at the moment, so it’s
definitely not that. Oh, how I’d like it to be that, because
frankly, I’m seriously running out of patience with that life
segment. So what – in the name of all the many deities we construct
to better explain our existence, give us a meaning, and take the edge
off of death – is making it feel all fuzzy and prickly and
irritatingly hopeful in there? What? Seriously?! You lot are
absolutely no use at all. Hang on, what was that bit back there….
hopeful. That’s interesting, I’m not familiar with that word.
Where did that come from? Right, wait a sec, I’m-a Google it:
hope·ful/ˈhōpfəl/
Adjective:
Feeling or inspiring optimism about a future event.
Noun:
A person likely or hoping to succeed.
Synonyms:
promising – sanguine – up-and-coming
Adjective:
Feeling or inspiring optimism about a future event.
Noun:
A person likely or hoping to succeed.
Synonyms:
promising – sanguine – up-and-coming
Well.
There you go. It would appear that somewhere in the last
couple of months, somehow, I have discovered some sort of self worth
and belief that the future might be less predictable and samey than I
had believed before. I know right, doesn’t sound like me does
it, but you come up with something better. Oh yes, that’s right,
you can’t because you’re a device I’m using in order to sound
chatty and informal, instead of drearily self involved and pondering
(though it’s not working as well as intended), and thusly you are
unable to actually get involved in what is a very one sided
conversation. Not a conversation at all really. I hope (there it is
again) that my stand up is part of this, I think it could be a good
show, once finished, and if nothing else it’s been quite cleansing
to write it. I assume that the new things; the meeting people and
doing stuff, the health, the exercise, the regained independence, the
better handling of one sided attraction – the everything – I
assume that these are symptomatic of the, what was it, hope. Or
causes. Or both. Look, I’m not a bloody doctor or psychologist or
whatever, alright!
The point is that I’m obviously feeling
uncharacteristically chipper about life. I can resist a cake. I can
spend an evening writing instead of watching hours and hours of
predictable tosh. I can run a few miles without wishing for death. I
can look at couples and think, ‘ah, that’s nice innit, I’d like
that’, instead of a simmering bitterness screaming ‘DON’T RUB
IT IN MY FACE YOU ENTWINED, GERM SHARING BASTARDS’.
The
trick now will be sustaining this feeling, assuming it is what I now
think it is, but that should be simple enough as long as I carry on
doing the things I want to do, continue persuing this performance
thingamabob, keep from destroying acquaintance/friendship with
displays of over the line affection, and make sure I don’t get fat.
But I tell you, If in a few days I end up doing a glittery fart or
drop dead with a taut, engorged belly, I will be absolutely furious.
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