I’m questioning so much at the moment. Who my friends are. What I want from work. Why I’m doing certain things. Where my future might be. None of it feels certain or constant at the moment, foundations built on shifting sands. Yet also I feel I’m in a rut. I’m spending money on things to make me happy, like Carry On films on DVD, or holidays to random places on my own. They’re not making me happy. I looked yesterday at buying a car or a camper van. The ability to jump in a van and head off at whim may suit me better than planning, booking, anticipating, and being disappointed.
Porto was a mistake. I can see that clearly now. I don’t know what I’ve learned from the experience. Two days would have been long enough, in fact it was, so I came back early, at some expense. I was depressed, sad, lonely, walking around disliking people, trying to fill the time. I don’t feel bad about the cost of coming back early, it’s my money after all, just not sustainable to do that all the time. Once I’d decided to come home I felt a weight had been lifted. The last morning I rode the metro, waited to head back to the airport, observed people, saw someone I think I know from the past. The airport parts were actually the best parts of that holiday. Waiting for a train at Stansted in cool damp air listening to Bob Dylan felt restorative.
Maybe I need more from people now. I need to find new people. I’m dragged down by the neediness, the negativity, the manipulations. But I have no means of meeting other people. It’s always me making the effort, me making allowances. I can’t do it any more. But I’m too old to destroy and reinvent myself again. I’m too scared and scarred to do it again. However, when you ain’t got nothing, you’ve got nothing to lose. I’ve been there before and bounced back. It took ten years, and I don’t have infinite years left.
