It seems to me that it is rare for people to actually look at the quality in their own lives and when they do there is often a shallowness, which I find quite sinister.
What do people associate with quality of life. Work?
Relationships? Health?
Work. It would be my guess that very few people in the world are actually doing what they want to be doing in terms of work. Considering most people spend most of their lives at work it seems an awful waste. For some though it is the only option.
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Financially people are very insecure and with good reason. The cost of living is so high that most people, both male and female find it necessary to commit themselves to a mind-numbing job just so they can enjoy their lives outside of the working constraint. I could have chosen this option and in many ways I still have to sacrifice my quality of life to do just that. Few people will take the risk of struggling to find something in life which will benefit them, not financially but qualitatively.
This risk is what I see myself going through as I have reached a point in my life where I have re-evaluated what I find meaningful. I have been witness to the fact that life is short, unfortunately, I learned this from someone who thought it far too long.
I do not feel able to drag myself back into a world of working 40 hours a week in a meaningless job that makes me feel miserable for all the other hours left in the week. Nothing to look forward to but holidays and the days you can get away with telling all sorts of lies just to get a single day away from it all.
Is it hopeless? Longing to be free of constrictions and desperation. Desperation in terms of knowing exactly what I want to do and not having the time to do it. The only plausible thing I can see myself doing in my lifetime without losing quality. So I struggle. One day maybe someone will read the things I have written and find some level of meaning which might be shared with others. Maybe not. Maybe it’s a selfish thing. One of the few things I actually get pleasure from doing.
Funny isn’t it, how some people accept things without question. How people sell themselves short. Sure, some people have a great deal of money but I wonder what degree of emptiness they feel. Maybe not now but when they one day look back on their lives and 30
have little else to show but a large bank balance. I wouldn’t trade my ideals and my creativity for that.
Where I go from here I’m not sure. However, I shall keep the idea of quality high in my list of priorities as if I lose all sense of it, as I once did, I would change as a person. I have seen people who have gone though this transition and it is horrible to see. People who have lost all notion of what truly matters and spend their time wrapped up in the trivial mundanity of life.
My fear is of it happening to me.
Thirty-one
I’ve been hurting for a long time really, now I come to think of it. I’d really like to start a conversation with the guy sat next to me. Just to ask him what he’s thinking about. I won’t, not because I’m shy but because I know the answer will probably disappoint me. I’m hard to please. I sneak a quick look at him, I’d say he was about forty, traveling on business maybe but not important enough to fly business class, perfectly shaven. He’s asleep. He looks rather peaceful I think, pitiful, ignorant, naïve…I just can’t seem to stop myself. I wonder if he’s traveling away from someone or something or traveling home. If I asked him, would he tell me? If he turned the question around, would I tell him? Do I know myself?
Of course I do.
I close my eyes and drift into the haze.
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Thirty-two
I turned vegetarian. It all happened when I was watching the new-born lambs bouncing around the fields which I saw out of every window in the cottage.
I love watching lambs as they get bigger. They remind me of my dogs when they were pups. Jump cut to my mother saying how delicious and juicy the leg of lamb they had the night before was.
I realised then what a hypocrite I had become. If I felt that way about lamb then surely I would feel the same way if chickens and cows roamed around my home too. Thus was my conclusion.
The dogs are downstairs humping each another again.
Thirty-three
I’ve got a list of painful moments in my life that I want to write about. Mainly in the hope that I can learn to come to terms with them by actually looking into them whereas in the past, I’ve skimmed over them as if they never happened. I think I may learn something about myself and it also might help me as a writer, to use these moments to get a real understanding of character and how to write real people with real fears.
My only reservation is that I know I will probably spend most of the day in tears but I guess sometimes that’s what you have to do to get to the root of things.
I’ll probably also smoke far much more than I should but if I can get all this out of my system it will be worth it and perhaps then I can go on to write 32
something of some meaning about a set of real characters in this surrealistic society in which we all live.
Thirty-four
Quiz shows. Who in their fucking right mind would want to go on a quiz show?
I was in the supermarket this morning. I was spurred in that direction because we haven’t had any bread in the house for three days, well, not counting the bits with white furry mould spreading over it like athletes foot. A woman barged into me with her fully laden shopping trolley (either a large family or a couple of fat fuckers) whilst engrossed in her shopping list, ticking off items with a red biro. She then leaned over me and grabbed a box of economy eggs off the shelf which clearly stated ‘caged hens’ on it. I looked in her trolley and saw buried gourmet pizzas and fresh spinach and ricotta pasta. Why for fucks sake then, did she not pick up the free-range eggs next to them and spend a whole 30p more? Somebody should put her in a fucking cage.
I am quite a bitter person. I didn’t quite realise it until I started writing things down. It’s odd when you realise something like that about yourself. Makes you feel a little uncomfortable.
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Thirty-five
Why do people always expect so much from you?
Thirty-six
Celebrity. This I find an odd phenomenon. Actors, singers and models in particular phase me. To succeed in a certain line of work is commendable but what gives some people the right to declare themselves better than the ‘ordinary’ man? To succeed simply because you are beautiful is a thing which leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Not to get me wrong, there are a lot of talented people out there who put a lot of work into their art, for example, I can watch a film and have my breath taken away by the director’s imagination, an actor’s strength of character…the list is endless. Yet seeing a run-of-the-mill, I would perhaps even say downright talentless singer on the front of a magazine pulling a face like a slapped arse telling people how to be like them really gets my goat.
Fucking jumped up pricks.
Why do adverts insist on showing women’s abdomens with just a glimpse of the bottom of her tits and the curve of her buttocks? Not just adverts for soap anymore either, but breakfast cereal and yogurt. Why is it never a man’s bollocks? I get so sick of advertisers putting forward their images of what is beautiful, the standards you must try and conform to to be accepted by the people that really matter. Fuck off you patronising bastards. You make me fucking sick to the stomach. No wonder I meet more and more 34
anorexics in my day to day life. People who won’t ever eat a biscuit with their coffee. People who eat dry bread rolls for lunch as they can’t bear to put anything remotely calorific into their mouths for fear their boyfriend will run off with someone who weighs half a pound less. There are so many probing questions about life we still haven’t been able to answer, so many problems throughout the world that we choose to ignore, we have the capacity to explore and explain like never before…so what the fuck is everyone doing?
Thirty-seven
Voluntary redundancy. Well. I’d freely like to declare myself redundant. Redundant. No longer of use. A waste of space. Yes. Thank you so much. Makes me feel a hell of a lot better.
I really do think most companies are run by monkeys.
Only they go out for tapas not bananas.
At work today, I told one of the girls she was about as funny as Windsor Davies. She looked at me blankly and asked who the fuck Windsor Davies was. I guess he must live with me in my world, along with Dustin Gee and Bernie Winters.
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Thirty-eight
I know too many fucking stupid people. It truly scares me.
Thirty-nine
I can’t sleep. I have too many things whirring round the inside of my head. I sometimes feel my head expanding, getting bigger and bigger until it eventually explodes. I sometimes experience a kind of madness where thoughts get faster and faster until I want to scream. This is how I feel now. Everything’s too surreal. I can hear the clank of the trolley a few rows infront. I know that soon a steward will appear with a robotic smile and ask me if I’d like any drinks.
I’ll offer a favourable reply and wait until I am passed a can, a plastic glass and a small unappetising packet of savoury cheesy bits.
‘Would you like anything to drink, Madam?’
I stare at her for a moment.
‘No, thank you,’ I reply, surprising even myself.
She continues down the aisle.
I realize I am thirsty.