Trysting Fields

I did nothing at all today. Like, almost literally nothing at all.

I worked for four hours in the morning like I do every weekday morning. Then I came home and just sort of.. thought about things.

Actually that’s not true. I didn’t think about anything, very much. I was just kind of blank and empty. All day long. It was not at all unpleasant. It was cleansing and nice.

I answered a little bit of email. In the early evening I went for a walk. Didn’t even notice I’d decided to do so until I was halfway up Acland Street. It was a perfect first-evening-of-summer. Lots of people out. Market stalls, for some reason. I looked at them for a bit then I went down to the beach.

Sat on the pier. Looked at the water and the sky. Felt empty. Felt very depersonalized, like I wasn’t really there. Or at least, the person who was there wasn’t me. I was just observing this boy staring out to sea in the third person.

Where am I? I’m in such a funny place right now. I feel very happy about a lot of things, very sad about others. In some ways I feel really burned out and dissolute but in a totally different – and infinitely better – way than I did at this time last year. This sense of dissolution has a healthy quality. It feels substantial. If that’s not a contradiction. I feel satisfyingly exhausted and drained. And I feel.. like I’m a going concern, y’know? Not just an empty shell.

This year has been like running a marathon. It was always going to be. I’m pleased I made it to the end. It was touch and go there for a while. And I’m pleased with where I’ve ended up. Although it isn’t where I expected. Wherever that was.

I’ve learned things this year which have changed all of the rules. So it’s hard to make comparisons with the past. And that’s frustrating me.

I can’t write for shit right now, either, and that’s frustrating me even more. Too many late nights and early starts. Too much indulgence. Too much everything. Too much, too much, too much.

I wish I could describe how it is.

Doing so would involve going to a number of places I can’t go in this context, for various reasons.

But more fundamentally, all of the useable metaphors I can think of (so many of them) contradict each other and none of them really cut it.

Must.. express… self..

Gnrrnrnr..

Something’s going on here. I feel like I’m pregnant. Not sure what with exactly. It might be something amazing. It might be something horrendous. It might be amazingly horrendous. It might be beautiful. It might be nothing. I don’t know. We’ll find out soon enough. Once I’ve finished destroying everything.

I’m going to read this tomorrow and want to take it down, but I won’t.

Was the first anniversary of my move to Melbourne. I only just realized. Time flies.

I should have celebrated. So much has happened. It has been a unique twelve months.

But I was too preoccupied with other things to even notice.