Or anything really. I have been just about holding onto the edge of reality these past few weeks and I'm inevitably reaching the point where I need to get my act together and face up to the fact that this type of life is only sustainable for so long. Visit-friend-in-London, do-half-hearted-job-search, pretend-to-be-doing-work-for-ex-tutor... it just doesn't work after a while.
I'm not sure what I am waiting for. Maybe just for someone to shake me and shout "it's not gonna sort itself out!!!" Probably more than that though. Well, really what I want is someone to take my life into their hands... to tell me what to do - when to get up in the mornings and where to go, who to talk to and what to say, when to shut up and possibly even what to think. That would be neat. It would be outright fabulous.
Gah. Life is being made too simple for me. Give me an opportunity to be a lazy cunt and I will grasp it. Make things easy for me and you will regret it. I was scared of Jeff and I forced myself to do things. Then he became non-scary and I stopped.
I used to be scared of my parents so did stuff to avoid being shouted at. Then I was scared of disappointing my mum so I would attempt to achieve something at least to avoid making her even sadder. Now she's pretty much accepted I won't be going anywhere remarkable so... here I am.
I don't even have an excuse. I know even in my moments of utter despondency that I am capable of so much more than this. I know from experience (and through some innate self-belief) that I can do stuff. Well, I could if I wanted.
Ironically I started this entry staring at the house opposite my flat and marvelling at the remarkably bright reflection of the sun and the pretty contrast with the intense blue sky. I was going to write about how things like that kept me going. Which they do. But how? Who's going to pay for it and who's going to justify it?
Oh well. I have an interview on Friday. Heh.