...that I'm probably going to disappear off the radar in a few years.
I have great friendships with a lot of you folks out there, most of whom will never read this and remain blissfully unaware of this revelation. I treasure silly passing remarks, odd grins from across the street and conversations which have lasted deep into the small hours of many dreary mornings this country has had to offer in the past.
It's all stopping though, of course.
I'm rubbish at keep up to speed with any of you in any way. I rarely show my face for big evenings out on the town; I am drawn to a different lifestyle, I fear - a lifestyle which aspires to peaceful villages where residents spend their days wandering about playing instruments and smiling and drinking tea and feeling perfectly happy with the state of things.
What's more, my inevitable career path leads me far away from the big cities and noise many of you enjoy so much. I'll end up in a cottage somewhere in the country, drawing the occasional thing for some newly developed shop that requires it, then strolling off to work at a post office until the day is through. It will be time spent alone, too, by the looks of things.
I have tried, mark you - I have twisted myself to fit into many frames and stories, but in actuality, it is never genuine; my presence is not intrinsic to the memory, simply moderately interesting excess used as kindling for another anecdote around the cheese and biscuits.
Yes, I will disappear. Many of you will forget me, some of you may have a flicker of interest in where I've gone, I might even be lucky enough to hear that one or two of you experienced genuine sadness with the passing of time. However, all in all, I will still fade away. I have loved many of you, but I can't keep pretending this lifestyle is my own.
These are, of course, simply words, and they will be passed over by tired eyes, and silently disregarded by busy minds. They'll probably be void by tomorrow anyway.
'tonm. xx
Book of the Moment: Still Stephen Fry's Autobiography.
Song of the Moment: "Samson" by Regina Spektor
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1 comment:
This is sort of like the image I have of myself in the future. Perhaps different occupation - but same place. A sensible place perhaps. Something which signifies what I think life can simply be. Simplistic and genuine naivety of a human. Simple. Well, life is never simple - or living. And it has not been for the almost full 20 years of mine. Maybe that’s what’s pulling me further to the edge of the cliffs in a cabin in Scotland’s darkest corners. But the years to come will perhaps bring me to an office in NYC or the fields of Asia or Southamerica. But the distant future of an older person – it’s set in a cliff with perhaps enough wood to make a boat and sail around the world.
PS. Last summer I spent 6 weeks in a cabin on my own as I was watching it for a friend. Spend my days biking, drawing flowers, cutting the lawn, pulling weeds, walking barefoot in the freshly rained grass, eating tomatoes on the small wooden stair and catching the sunset. Being at ease.
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