Misery. It’s been on my mind.
We all know someone who loves to wallow in their own sadness, whose home is like a cave of despair, whose only joy in life is the gossip generated by their melodrama. Who loves being sick, and has a special sick voice that’s taken out once a month and accompanied by some sick clothes and paraded around the house like an homage to illness and gloom. Who is constantly struggling with some huge difficulty of a completely unsolveable nature.
And we all know someone who is the total opposite – who reports good news regardless of what they’re dealing with, who sees every problem as a challenge, every failure as a motivation to succeed. Who is a joy to be around, who brings smiles to the faces of others, who loves life with every cheerful atom of their being.
The thing is, there’s no difference between a sad person’s life and a happy one’s. The only difference is their attitude. There’s no difference between a ‘good’ day and a ‘bad’ one – it’s just a matter of how you look at it. Embrace the day. Live the moment. Carpe diem, and all that jazz.
To put it simply… if you love the world, it will love you back.
It’s been a strange few weeks. Hectic organisation of a hugely successful event. Business booming, for now. The pirate back on the scene, and moving in, tomorrow.
Great changes happening in small, quiet ways. Spending more time in the car, less in the pub. Sitting down to get work done, and hours rolling away in minutes. Time passing gently yet frighteningly quickly.
A feeling of being settled, in my job and in myself. A feeling of fullness, maybe, in what I think is my stomach but is perhaps, really, my soul. An almost sub-conscious awareness of not needing anything else right now.
I bought sheets today, and wasn’t tempted to buy cushions, or lamps, or random things to match. I have no desire for that satisfaction that usually comes with a heavy shopping bag. My best purchases the last few weeks have been books… around 8 new novels to live inside when I get around to them.
Only one book this year truly made a difference, where I dreamt about the characters, felt their presence in my life, wondered about their future, and cried at their tears. I’m hoping to find another, soon.
I bought the paper today, a broadsheet, as I’m trying Highbrow for a few days. I don’t think it’s me; I scan over the pictures, pausing on the interesting faces, unconcerned about the articles.
I’m more interested now in the advertising, in the tone, in the colour, in the layout. Learning from everything, collecting leaflets and designs like a graphic design junkie.
Yes, I voted last week, but I don’t want to talk about it. Political debate, however intelligent or worthy, is of no interest to me, though I’m sure the outcome will be of importance.
It’s time for bed, but I’m afraid to let my mind switch off tonight, imagining I’m on the verge of something worth being awake for, some thought explosion or heavenly inspiration.
I feel, tonight, as though my own company has filled the room the way other people might, if I were in the mood for real company. As though my being here, my breath, has reached every corner of the building. I can see my life everywhere I look, me, in the clutter on the table, in the books on the floor, in the slowly wilting thirsty flowers on the mantelpiece. I have arrived, this is home.
